


Where Have All the Flowers Gone?

by houdini74



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Drug Use, Eventual Happy Ending, Flirting, M/M, POV Alternating, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:42:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22771945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houdini74/pseuds/houdini74
Summary: All David wants is to order some flowers. What he gets is a very cute, very snippy shopkeeper who he can't stop thinking about.After taking over his parents' shop, Patrick feels like he's being crushed by the weight of expectations. Until he meets someone who turns everything upside down.Story is complete, I will post one chapter each morning until it's done.
Relationships: David Rose (Schitt's Creek)/Original Character(s), Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Patrick Brewer/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 299
Kudos: 623





	1. Ranunculus is for Attraction

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to play with what might have happened if David and Patrick had met before David had changed and grown but after Patrick had come out. This is early David - he's a good person who makes terrible choices.

Patrick scratches out the latest version of the design for the flower arrangements for Tiffany Peterson’s wedding and starts again. It needs more height, but Tiffany’s rejection of both orchids and lilies is stretching his creativity. He scowls at the discarded drawings, crumbled balls of paper dot the front counter, a visual reminder of how running a flower shop doesn’t come naturally to him.

His parents had passed the shop to him after they retired three years ago. He’d grown up in this store, playing hide and seek among the shelves filled with flowers and houseplants and ceramic planters and helping his mom carefully place flowers into vases for weddings and birthdays and Valentine’s Day. When he was little he’d loved it, the colors and the smells, but now that the shop is solely his responsibility, he feels like he’ll never meet his parents’ expectations.

He tosses down his pencil in frustration as the bell over the door jingles. The man at the door tugs off his white framed sunglasses and strides towards the counter that separates the sales floor from the workspace. He’s, _well_ , gorgeous is the only word that comes to mind. His dark hair is perfectly styled and even though his clothes look casual, Patrick suspects it’s the sort of casual that costs thousands of dollars to achieve. He glances down at Patrick’s sketch.

“Can I help…” The standard greeting rolls from his lips only to be cut off mid-sentence.

“Delphiniums.” The man taps the paper with a silver-ringed hand, his other hand perches on his hip. 

“Excuse me?” Who this guy who thinks can make suggestions in such a condescending tone? His sarcastic retort dies in his throat as he thinks it through. Delphiniums would be perfect, actually. 

“It needs to be taller. Delphiniums. White ones.” The man picks up Patrick’s pen and with a few quick strokes, he sketches out a design. Spikes of white delphiniums rise out of an arrangement of hydrangeas and peonies. Greenery cascades from the base over a tall cylindrical vase. It’s elegant and understated, something Patrick would never have designed. He narrows his eyes at the other man, who is standing impatiently, silver flashing as he plays with his rings. 

“Can I help you?” Patrick tries to reclaim control of the conversation.

“I need to order some flowers. For...my...for someone.” Uncertainty ripples in the air around him. He wears his black-and-white clothing like a shield, like someone who is always on guard against getting hurt.

“Good thing this is a flower shop, then.” For the first time, the other man’s mask slips, just a little, and the corners of his mouth twitch. The movement is so slight, that if Patrick wasn’t watching his lips, he wouldn’t have noticed. Why is he watching his lips, anyway? Just because they’re full and kissable...he jerks his eyes up to meet the other man’s, but not before seeing his lips twitch for a second time. 

The man’s eyes aren’t any less distracting than his mouth. So dark they’re practically black, they’re almost bottomless. He could lose himself there, falling for days. Something about this man makes him feel like the rug is about to be pulled out from under his feet, as though a single move could turn everything upside down.

“What...um...what sort of flowers?” He looks away from the dark, piercing eyes to straighten the perfectly straight stack of business cards on the counter.

The man doesn’t answer right away, worrying at his rings again. “I’m looking for something, to...uh...tell someone I want to see them again. But nothing too desperate.”

It’s not like he hasn’t heard every variation on every sad story, but a stab of something like longing or maybe sorrow goes through him at the other man’s words. 

“Well, you can’t go wrong with something classic like roses.” Roses are expensive and this man looks like he’s used to spending the most money as possible, but his face twists in a grimace at the suggestion. 

“That’s kind of a cliche, though?” He waves his hands in the air. “You know what. This was probably a mistake. It’s not like anyone ever sends me flowers, so I don’t know why I’m bothering with any of this.”

“No one sends you flowers? Everyone...” Patrick stops talking when he sees the defensive look on the other man’s face.

“Everyone what?” The man snaps the words at him, dark eyes flashing.

He wants to say that people should line up to send flowers to someone who looks like this man does. “Everyone should get flowers.” His voice trails off weakly at the end. There’s a long pause as they stare at each other, Patrick cautiously, the other man defensively. “So, not roses, then?” He tilts his head to one side, considering. He takes a couple of steps to his walk-in cooler, looking around quickly until he finds what he wants. “How about these?” He hands over the dark red anemones. They symbolize fading hopes, but no one cares about flower meanings anymore. If they did, hydrangeas wouldn’t be nearly as popular in wedding bouquets. 

The other man holds an anemone carefully in one hand, considering. “Yes, okay, this will work.”

“Do you want delivery?” He hopes the other man won’t just pay cash and disappear.

The other man nods. “Yes. Please.” Patrick slides a delivery form across the counter to him, watching as he fills in the spaces. The man hands the finished form back to him.

“David Rose. Oh, that’s funny…” He trails off at the blank look David gives him. “Because this is a flower shop…” He remembers where he’s seen David before; his face frequently graces the supermarket tabloids with stories about drugs and parties and a parade of men and women who are generally thought to be breaking David’s heart on a weekly basis.

“I don’t know what that means.” David’s hands wave through the air almost of their own volition. 

“Okay.” He looks over the other information on the form, double-checking that David has included everything. “I’ll get these out this afternoon.” David hands over his credit card and his fingers brush against Patrick’s, sending tiny shock waves through him. 

“There’s cards there, if you want.” He points to the selection of free cards he keeps for customers.

David glances at them, his lips twisting. “Don’t you have anything less...floral?”

“I thought we’d already covered the fact that this is a flower shop?” He can’t stop himself from teasing David, trying to provoke a reaction from him.

“Does that mean you’re prohibited from selling anything tasteful?” David gestures at the selection of cards. Admittedly, most of them are best suited to a great-grandmother’s birthday party but he can’t help but rise to the challenge in David’s voice.

“Yes, we’re prohibited by Florist’s Association bylaw 324 which dictates that all cards must be tasteless and unappealing.”

“Do people think you’re funny?” David selects a plain card from the back row.

“Sometimes.” He grins, his smile growing even wider as David scowls at him. David scratches a few words on the card and tucks it into a tiny envelope before handing it back to him. 

He’ll probably never see David again, but he wants to do everything he can to make sure David remembers him. The new deep purple calla lilies his supplier dropped off that morning are in a bucket on the side counter. The color is so deep it’s almost black, a perfect match for the striking man standing in front of him. He pulls one out, snips off the end and slips a plastic water container over it. He hands it to David. “On the house.”

David narrows his eyes at him. “If you’re angling for a good Yelp review or some sort of favor…”

“No. I...that’s not it.” He can almost see the wave of defensiveness radiating out from David. “Everyone deserves flowers.”

David looks at him for a moment longer, eyes still narrowed. Slowly, he reaches out and takes the lily. 

Magnificence and beauty. Patrick realizes belatedly what the meaning associated with calla lilies usually is. He wonders if David knows anything about flowers.

“Okay. Thanks.” David’s voice is softer now and his lips turn up a tiny amount.

“You’ll get a text confirmation when the delivery is complete.” David nods and holds the lily up to his nose as he turns to leave. 

“It was nice to meet you, David.”

***

David leaves the flower shop, lily clutched in one hand. It’s a dark, luscious purple, almost black, which he imagines is why the shopkeeper chose it for him. He cringes, not liking the feeling of being seen or having someone make assumptions. Before he can allow himself to give it any further thought, he tosses the flower onto the top of a nearby trash can, rejecting the shopkeeper’s gentle smirk and warm eyes along with it. He breathes out a sigh of relief, dismissing the sharp fantasy that someone might have seen him well enough to give him something that he needs, no matter how small.

He’s not even sure why he’s bothering to send flowers to Sebastien. Except he knows that Sebastien likes it when David buys him things. Just like everyone in his life. All the people who take and take, so rarely giving him anything in return, no matter how badly he wants it.

He’s almost to the corner when he turns back. The flower lies on top of the garbage where he tossed it, a discarded hamburger wrapper covers part of the stem. With a grimace of distaste, he reaches into the trash can, careful to keep his Givenchy sweater well away from the edges. He pulls out the lily and holds it close to his chest before spinning around and heading for home.

In his apartment, he takes a drink of vodka directly from the bottle before mixing a vodka sour. He paces around the apartment. It’s too soon to text Sebastien to see if he liked the flowers but he checks his phone anyway. He needs Sebastien to like them, needs him to regret the things he’d said, to take back the words about seeing other people, about how David was too needy, too clingy, too much. 

The flowers are probably too needy. It probably is too much. Sebastien hates it when he’s too much, saying it interferes with his artistic process. His glass is empty. Filling it at the bar, he spots the calla lily lying beside the barware. 

That florist had been very snippy. David hadn’t like how he’d looked at him, like he could see inside his head. He takes another drink and runs some water into an empty highball glass for the flower. It’s incorrect, but he can’t be bothered to find a vase. He should throw it out. He should have left it in the dumpster. Now he has this...reminder of that person who had looked at him so kindly. 

He doesn’t want this man’s kindness, he tells himself. No one is kind to him and everything works out just fine. 

Who does he think he is, anyway? His job is to sell flowers, not to tease his customers. And why hasn’t he delivered David’s order yet? He’ll probably be out of business by Christmas if he keeps on making fun of customers and giving away products and failing to make deliveries on time. 

He checks his phone again. There’s no text, so he mixes another drink. 

***

Patrick taps the card with David’s delivery information against the counter. The anemones sit in a square glass vase on the counter in front of him. With their dark centers and deep red petals, the arrangement doesn’t need anything more, the simplicity accents the flowers.

He taps the card on the counter again. Usually, he uses a service to deliver his arrangements. He should just call them. He picks up his phone and puts it back down again. The address for the delivery is only a couple of blocks away. He could close for fifteen minutes, make the delivery, grab a coffee and be back before anyone noticed he was gone. 

He’s curious, he realizes. He wants to peek into David Rose’s life, to catch a second glimpse of those gorgeous black eyes or the smile he’d tried to suppress when Patrick had teased him. He shakes his head. David doesn’t need someone to have a crush on him. David is in a relationship. What he needs is a friend.

Still, he wants to make the delivery himself. He places the arrangement into a small box and wraps it in cellophane, locking the door behind him as he leaves. 

The delivery address is a live/work loft. He rings the doorbell and a deep tone sounds on the other side of the solid wood door. The door springs open.

“What?!” A scruffy man in a ripped white t-shirt and torn jeans opens the door. The button and fly of his jeans is open and Patrick pulls his eyes from the man’s obviously half-hard cock to focus on his face.

“Delivery for Sebastien Raine.” He holds up the flowers. 

“Ugh. Yes, that’s me.” The man rolls his eyes before reaching for the flowers. “Who are they from?”

“Card says David Rose.” He’s not sure what he expected to find when he delivered the flowers, but it wasn’t this partially aroused, disdainful man.

Sebastien’s lip curls. “Of course.”

“I need a signature.” He gestures to the delivery form, hoping he can make this as quick as possible.

“Fine.” The man opens the door and gestures with his head for Patrick to follow him. Across the loft, a man and a woman recline on an uncomfortable-looking couch. Both are only wearing underwear. The man kisses the woman lazily before she gestures at Sebastien. “Come back, baby.”

“Just a minute. David’s sent me some flowers.” Sebastien sets the flowers on the table. His voice is mocking as he scrawls his signature across Patrick’s form and the woman laughs. “I thought you cut him loose?”

“I told him I was seeing other people.” Sebastien smirks at the woman. “He’s so needy, he can’t take a hint.”

Patrick can feel the revulsion rising inside him. Sebastien hands the paper back to him and looks him up and down. 

“You have lovely skin. Like a statue.” Sebastien’s voice is almost a purr, he reaches out and strokes the side of Patrick’s face. “You could join us.” Patrick’s skin crawls as Sebastien touches him.

He jerks away from Sebastien’s hand. “I don’t think so.” He has what he came for, without another word he bolts for the exit, eager to be free of Sebastien’s hungry gaze.

As the door to Sebastien’s loft clicks shut behind him, Patrick pulls out his phone. His hands are shaking as he enters the number that David gave him. Teeth clenched, he tries to compose a normal sounding message.

**Hi, this is Patrick from The Floral Corner. Your delivery is now complete. Thank you for your purchase and please consider us for your future floral needs.**

***

David gives up on mixing the drinks, setting the bottle of vodka sitting beside his glass on the glass and chrome coffee table. He lies on the couch, Rick Owens clad feet hanging over the armrest.

“Don’t put your shoes on the furniture.” He hiccoughs, giggling to himself as his phone buzzes with a text. The flowers have been delivered. It’s probably just a computer-generated text, but he replies anyway.

**David:** Fimally. 

That’s better. That’ll show that insolent guy, with his soft brown eyes and almost curly hair. What was his name? He reads the text again. Patrick. That’ll show Patrick. 

This is what he’s come to. Sitting alone, sending texts to a confirmation message, with an empty bottle of vodka. He’s alone again. He hates being alone, that’s when the doubt and anxiety creeps in, taunting him with his own inadequacies.

If Sebastien was here, at least they could have sex to take his mind off of things. Not that he’s likely to be fucking Sebastien again. He knows the flowers are a last-ditch attempt, like throwing sand into the sea in hopes of reversing the tide. 

The vodka is dulling his loneliness, softening the brittleness inside him. He closes his eyes, tipping his head back against the throw cushion of the couch. He flinches when his phone buzzes, vibrating against his chest. 

**Patrick:** I’m sorry, was two hours too long to wait?

Has it only been two hours? He feels like he’s been lying on the couch for days. He fumbles with his phone, wanting to put Patrick in his place. If he can’t lash out at Sebastien, then Patrick will make a good target.

**David:** youre very assy

There’s a long pause and he puts his phone down, satisfied that he’s told Patrick what he really thinks of him. His phone vibrates.

**Patrick:** I’m sorry, what?

He scrolls up. Fuck. Now he’s thinking about Patrick’s ass, how it filled out his terrible jeans when he’d bent over in the flower shop. It was a nice ass. He thinks about how it would feel beneath his hands as Patrick thrusts his hips against him.

**David:** assy youre very assy

Goddammit. He forces his drunken brain to focus, typing each letter as deliberately as possible.

**David:** S-A-S-S-Y

He puts the phone down, the feeling of smug satisfaction is gone, leaving a wave of self-loathing in its wake. He blinks away the tears that are pricking at the corner of his eyes. When he closes his eyes, all he can see is a pair of warm brown eyes. His phone buzzes again. Patrick has sent him a shrugging emoji. He snarls at the phone. He wants to tell Patrick what he thinks, to send him the perfect cutting remark, but his fuzzy brain refuses to cooperate. His phone buzzes again.

**Patrick:** I’m glad I met you today, David

If the teasing was bad, Patrick’s unexpected swerve towards sincerity is even worse. He can’t deal with this at the best of times, let alone when he’s lying in a drunken heap on his couch. He sets the phone on the coffee table beside the empty vodka bottle and covers his face with his hands. 

He’s forgotten about Sebastien.

***

Patrick waits to see if there will be another message from David, but there’s no response. He winces to himself, he should have continued with the teasing instead of trying to tell David how he feels. David seems like someone who is allergic to sincerity. 

He thinks back to his encounter with Sebastien. He’s not sure how invested David is in his relationship with the other man, but sending flowers to someone who has moved on is always a recipe for heartbreak. Having met Sebastien, he’s not sure that he wasn’t just playing with David anyway. His heart aches for David. No one deserves that sort of derision. 

He doodles on Tiffany Peterson’s design. The delphiniums are the perfect addition; he needs to clean up David’s sketch and send it to her. Instead, he finds himself drawing a different arrangement, creamy white ranunculus surrounding a single, black peony. He throws down his pen and searches through the flower cooler until he finds what he’s looking for. 

David deserves flowers. He deserves something to make him feel special, to make him realize that someone sees him, could care about him. Patrick knows that he isn’t that someone, that he could never bring himself to take a chance on someone as bold as David Rose. But there must be someone out there who can see David for who he is.

The end result is not something he could ever sell. The colors are stark, the clarity of the white sharp against the richness of the purply black. It’s perfect. He boxes up the flowers and pulls the address from the delivery card, adding it to the next morning’s delivery roster. It’s not until after he’s tucked the arrangement back into the cooler that he thinks about the meanings of the flowers he’s selected. Attraction and compassion. A little too on the nose, but David will probably never know the difference. Before he can reconsider, he dashes off a note and tucks it into the arrangement.

_I see you, David Rose_

Thinking about David distracts him for most of the morning. He tries to work on Tiffany Peterson’s design, redrawing the arrangement to include David’s ideas, but he stares into space, imagining a pair of sharp black eyes and a set of silver rings. Finally, he forces himself to pull together his orders for the next day. He’s sticking some white lilies into florist foam at the bottom of a vase when the bell over the door jingles and David stalks into the store. 

Patrick puts down his scissors and moves to the front counter, leaning casually against the worn wood. He can see the mark he’d made with his crayons when he was five, the red wax now embedded in the patina of the cracks and nicks. “Are you here to complain in person?” 

David glares at him. “Yes. I do have a complaint. Actually, I have two complaints.” His white sweater is covered in broken black vertical lines. David clearly has a look that he works hard to cultivate. Patrick raises an eyebrow, encouraging David to continue. “Firstly, someone sent me flowers.”

“How...how dare they.” He smirks at David, who narrows his eyes at him. When he’d sent the flowers, he’d wanted David to have something nice for himself, but his outraged reaction makes it even better. 

“I want to know who it was.” David gestures dramatically. “I thought I knew who it was. But, it turns out, it wasn’t.” 

Patrick’s heart clenches. David had clearly thought Sebastien had sent the flowers. He winces to think what Sebastien had said to him. “Sorry, I can’t tell you, I have to respect the confidentiality of my customers.”

“How much?” David sets his sunglasses on the counter and gestures at his cash register. 

“I’m sorry?” He tilts his head quizzically. Does David really think he can just buy anything he wants? Patrick thinks about what he knows about the Rose family. If even a quarter of the stories are true, David probably does believe that money can buy him anything.

“How much money do you want to give me the name?” Patrick can tell it’s a question that David has asked a million times, that there’s never been a circumstance he couldn’t use his money to fix.

“I’m not going to sell you the information, David.” 

“I don’t think you know how much money I could offer.” He wonders how much David would offer. If he set a ridiculous price, would David match it? How much was too much? A thousand? Ten thousand? David is staring at him expectantly. 

“Oh, I do.” 

“It doesn’t have to be money. I’ve got drugs or something...else…?” David’s eyes run up Patrick’s body, making him flush. 

“David. The person who sent the flowers wants it to be a secret. I’m not going to tell you.”

“Fine.” David huffs at him dramatically, his fingers reaching out to rearrange the tiny potted African violets that are for sale by the cash register. Patrick tilts his head and studies David. Even though his attempts at bribery have failed, Patrick senses that he doesn’t want to leave his shop. As though he doesn’t have anywhere else to go.

“And your second complaint?” He tilts his head at David. 

“Oh. Well, you need to use more greenery in your designs. Like this.” David picks up the pen from beside the register and searches for a piece of paper. Patrick smirks at him and hands him a blank printout from the receipt printer. David sketches a quick drawing. It’s the arrangement he’d sent, now framed with tall, tropical leaves that rise upward in a graceful design.

“Huh. Okay David, I’ll take that under advisement.” He wishes his designs came as naturally as they did to David. 

“Well.” David hands the pen back to him. “I’ll just be going, then.” 

He doesn’t want to let David leave. “So...now that you’ve offered me your money and your drugs and your...self, maybe I could buy you a cup of coffee?”

For the briefest second, there’s a spark in the back of David’s eyes before a mask slams down over his face. He shrugs and looks back down at the counter. “Yeah, sure.”

David follows him to the door and he sticks his ‘Back in One Hour’ sign in the window. He holds the door open for David, letting his hand accidentally brush against his shoulder. He flips the lock on the door and leads David across the street to the cafe.

***

David’s not sure why he agreed to have coffee with Patrick. Maybe it was the opportunity to press him for more information about the person who had sent the flowers. Or maybe it was a friendly face after his latest, and probably final, fight with Sebastien. Or maybe it was because of Patrick’s last words during their text chain the day before. Before he can examine his motivations, he’s sitting at a table at the cafe across the street, a caramel macchiato in front of him.

The flowers nag at him. He should have known that Sebastien was too self-involved to send David anything, much less a signature black and white flower arrangement. Sebastien had laughed in his face when David had shown up at his apartment door that morning. His final words ring in David’s ears. “I told you I was seeing other people, of course I didn’t buy you flowers.” His mouth twists derisively at the memory. He narrows his eyes at the man sitting across the table from him.

Patrick has ordered tea. It’s better suited to a sixty-year-old schoolteacher and the sight of it makes David scowl. “Are you okay?” Patrick takes another drink of his tea. Even though both their drinks were served in identical white ceramic mugs, Patrick’s gesture seems deliberate and delicate, as though he’s mocking David with each sip. 

He can’t remember the last time someone asked him that question. It makes him scowl even harder. “Fine.”

“You sure? You seem a little...tense.” Patrick purses his lips and blows on his tea. David’s eyes follow as his red, wet lips form a perfect circle. He can imagine those lips, stretched and round on his cock, Patrick kneeling before him. 

Thinking about sex grounds him. That’s all this is. Patrick is good-looking, it’s easy for David to imagine how his body would respond to him. There’s nothing more to it. It’s just a little harmless flirting. Maybe they’ll fuck each other, maybe they won’t, either way, it’s not like Patrick wants something complicated like a relationship or to be friends with him. “I’m having coffee with someone who’s done nothing but tease me since I met him, so maybe I’m allowed to be tense.”

“Okay. As long as that’s all that it is.” Patrick smirks at him knowingly, as though he thinks David has other things to be tense about. 

“Do you do this all the time? Force your customers to have coffee with you?” Patrick’s confidence is unnerving. Most of the people David knows pretend to be confident, but none of them have this easy natural self-assurance that Patrick seems to possess.

“Did I force you?” Patrick blows carefully on his tea. David feels like he’s back at the incredibly awkward tea party he’d been at with Victoria Beckham and Pippa Middleton. “And nope, I don’t usually have coffee with my customers.”

Patrick’s eyes are soft. He wants to believe that Patrick is as nice as he seems to be, but he probably wants something. Money. Prestige. A blow job in the back room of his shop. A photo to post on his store’s Instagram account. An invitation to a Rose family party.

“Okay. So, why…?” He’s been off balance since the moment he’d walked into Patrick’s shop. 

Patrick shrugs. “You seem like a nice person.” The breadth of the lie takes his breath away. None of his conversations with Patrick have been nice. He’s been rude and abrasive and defensive. At no time has he been nice. Patrick grins at him. “Maybe nice isn’t the right word.”

“You don’t say.” It was a weak compliment at best, but he regrets that it’s being snatched away from him.

“Good person. I think you’re a good person.” Patrick’s eyes are riveted to his. He’s smiling as though he can see how the compliment stabs through him, like one of those light swords in the Space Wars movie that Sebastien had forced him to watch because he thought it was cliched and ironic.

This is much worse. He leans across the table so he can hiss in Patrick’s ear. “You don’t know me at all.” He pushes his chair back. It scrapes across the floor. 

He’s halfway to the door when he hears Patrick’s voice following him with a promise. “I’ll see you again, David Rose.”


	2. Zinnias are for Goodness

David wakes to the smell of roses. People always send him roses, thinking it’s cute because of his last name. He hates it, so he always pretends not to get the joke. He opens his eyes to see the tall blond woman he’d spent the night with setting the bouquet of black and white roses on his nightstand. 

Cheryl, no Cheri, that’s her name, is wearing a short red negligee. She sits on the edge of the bed. “Someone’s sent you flowers, baby.” She runs her manicured red fingernails up his bare arm. “Do you have another lover I should worry about?” Her laughter bounces off the walls of his room, shrieking into his eardrums.

The flowers sit beside the bed, the black and white toned petals are unusual but he still resents them. But the idea that someone out there would secretly send him flowers makes him warm inside. He chews on the inside of his cheek. He can see the card from Patrick’s shop dangling from one of the stems. It’s been a week but he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about Patrick. His soft brown eyes haunt him and he looks for them everywhere. He reaches for the card.

_I hope these make you happy, David Rose_

There’s no signature. He tosses the card onto the night stand and scowls at the ceiling. 

Cheri has tucked herself back under the covers beside him. “Don’t worry, baby. I’m not jealous as long as we can still have our fun.” She kisses him messily. It’s nice. She’s a beautiful woman, he shivers as her lips find the pulse point on his neck. Cheri kisses her way down his body, her eyes look up at him before she takes him in her mouth.

He closes his eyes as his body responds. Last night’s high has worn off and without the euphoria, his mind wanders. For a second he imagines it’s Patrick going down on him, Patrick who is making him feel this good. With a hoarse shout he comes, his eyes flutter open to see Cheri’s satisfied smile. A shock ripples through him as her blue eyes meet his. He had expected them to be brown. 

Cheri wipes her mouth with the back of her hand before settling onto the pillow beside him. “I was thinking you could take me shopping today, baby.” She strokes his arm casually. “The new Prada bags are out today.”

He knows she’s only here because of the things he can buy her. Still, a Prada bag or two is a small price to pay for another night of fun. He looks over the roses. “Sure. I just want to make a stop first.”

***

Patrick stares at the sketch that David left behind during his previous visit. It’s a doodle more than anything, but the cattail leaves draw the eye upward, adding height and motion. It takes him days to come up with a new design and David had just sketched this out on a scrap piece of paper. Not for the first time, he wishes he wasn’t tied to his parents’ expectations for the store. It would break their hearts if he sold it. 

He puts the sketch down and pulls some flowers out of the cooler, determined to design something new, even if it isn’t as elegant as David’s drawing. He has the ferns and Gerber daisies laid out on his workbench when David comes into the shop. His stomach tenses when he sees the tall blond woman clinging to his arm. 

“What a sweet little shop! So quaint!” All of her sentences end in exclamation points.

“Thank you. It’s nice to see you, David.” He ignores the jealousy that’s swirling through him. He has no reason to feel jealous. David is a friend. And given the way he had stormed out of the coffee shop, he might not even be that.

“That person sent me flowers again.” David stares at him expectantly as he approaches the counter.

“Is that a question?” He’s not sure what it is about David that makes him want to poke and jab until he lodges himself under his skin.

“Tell me who sent them.” The woman disentangles herself from David’s arm so she can browse through the home decor items in the front of the store.

“You know I’m not going to do that.” If not telling David is enough to bring him back to his shop, he’ll keep this secret for as long as he can.

David narrows his eyes at him, his arms crossed. “Fine. If you’re going to let someone send me flowers, the least you can do is to not send me something that’s a complete cliche.”

“Are black and white roses a cliche?” He suspects David’s definition of a cliche differs from most other people’s.

“It’s just...I don’t like roses. At all.” The demanding tone has left David’s voice and he sounds almost sad. 

“Would you like to submit a pre-approved list of flower choices?”

“I would like that, very much.” David grins at him, a quick flash of a smile that makes Patrick think he’s seen the real person behind the mask David always wears.

“Maybe I can buy you another cup of…”

“David, baby, look how darling this is!” The woman’s voice interrupts them as she holds up one of the living moss sculptures that a local artisan makes for him. The woman sets the sculpture on the counter and she gestures rudely for David to pay for it. He hands over his credit card without comment, his face tightening at her presumption. Patrick wonders how often this scene repeats itself, with David’s credit card paying for other people’s avarice. 

He gives the woman a fake smile and wraps up the sculpture. David is playing with his rings, sliding them up and down his fingers. Every time they catch the light it pulls Patrick’s eyes. He hands the package to the woman, her fingers brush against his, they’re icy cold. He flinches away, not wanting to touch this woman who cares so little for David. Patrick looks at her and sighs. She will only hurt David and dash his hopes. 

“C’mon baby, I want to get to Prada before the best bags are gone.” The woman stands impatiently by the door, leaving David to carry her purchase. 

“Thanks.” David’s eyes meet his, his mouth twisting. The door to the shop opens and Rachel holds the door open for David and his friend as David struggles out the door with the sculpture in his arms. The woman stands impatiently, tapping her red fingernails on her phone case. Patrick calls after them. “See you later, David.” 

“Who was that?” Rachel lets the door close behind her as she approaches the counter. They’ve stayed friends all this time, through their on-again off-again relationship that damaged and fulfilled them both in equal measure, through his growing awareness that he was gay and his coming out to his friends and family. Rachel has stood by him through all of it and he knows he’s lucky to have her in his life.

“David Rose.” 

He sees the latent recognition of who David is dawn in her eyes. “Oh. I thought he looked familiar. He’s cute...you should…”

“He’s not interested in me.” He shakes his head as Rachel comes around the corner to give him a hug. For a long time he’d believed that the love she felt for him was all he needed. He had loved her so much. He still does. And loving Rachel had consumed the reality of who he was for longer than he cared to admit. When he and Rachel had been together, he’d buried what he needed beneath the love she gave him. He swears he’ll never do that again. “I think he needs a friend. Someone...different from the other people he knows.”

“You mean different from the woman who’s too good to open her own doors?” He laughs with her but a pang of sadness stabs through him that David surrounds himself with people who don’t care about him.

“Yeah, David definitely needs someone who can open their own doors, among other things.” 

Rachel grins at him, her eyes bright. “Well, why don’t you take me to lunch and you can practice your door-opening on the way there?”

***

David isn’t surprised when Cheri demands to be taken back to her apartment after they finish at the Prada store. He doesn’t care, not really. The money is like water through his fingers, and her sharp laugh is getting on his nerves. 

The problem is that he hates being alone. When he’s alone, the voice in the back of his head gets louder, talking up his failures and his insecurities. 

It’s only noon. It’s too early to find a party or a club to distract him. He could go back to the flower shop. He didn’t miss Patrick’s attempt to ask him out for coffee. He shakes his head, it’s too desperate. Besides, Patrick’s snippy teasing just brings a different type of agitation.

Facing a lack of better options, he heads to his gallery.

Contemporary art lines the walls of the gallery. David prides himself on hanging works from some of the best emerging artists in the city. He loves contemporary art, the sharp edginess of it, the feeling of being in on a secret that not everyone understands. But as is usual between openings, the gallery is empty. “Nice of you to grace us with your presence.” Stevie looks up from the book she’s reading behind the desk. 

He scowls at her, completing their daily ritual. “I can still fire you, you know.” 

“Pretty sure you need your dad’s approval for that, so I’m not too worried.” Rolling his eyes at her, he goes into his office. Hiring Stevie had been an accident. His dad had insisted he bring on someone to manage the gallery. Realistically, his dad had probably been looking for someone to manage him. Instead, what they had both ended up with was Stevie. 

From the day they’d hired her, Stevie has refused to take any of his shit. She takes his irritation over the fact that pastels are trending again and his delight over Mariah Carey in equal stride, sitting unmoved behind the sales desk in the front of the gallery. He secretly loves that about her, although he would never, ever tell her. 

In his office, he takes a seat behind the desk. It’s immaculate, only his laptop and a small chrome sculpture interrupt the flow of the glass surface. He turns on the laptop, more for something to do than from a need to do any actual work. He opens his email. The first email is from The Floral Corner.

**Thank you for your purchase! Take our customer satisfaction survey!**

Eyes narrowed, he clicks the link in the email. There are so many things he wants to say to Patrick. He’s been waiting for an opportunity to tell him what he thinks of him without him being able to respond with a sassy comeback. The survey opens in a new window with a chipper greeting.

_How likely are you to recommend The Floral Corner to your friends?_

The flowers were beautiful, but Patrick was very sassy. Would he really recommend Patrick to other people? Patrick is probably nicer to everyone else. He chooses a seven out of ten. 

The survey asks him to rate a long list of things about his purchase and the shop. He clicks through as quickly as he can, seven, eight, ten, ten, a two for customer service, nine. At last he gets to the final question.

_Do you have any additional comments?_

It’s the opportunity he’s been waiting for, the chance to tell Patrick how he really feels. Patrick had done nothing but tease him from the moment he’d walked into the door of his store. And then he’d had the gall to invite him for coffee and tell him he was a good person, a lie so large he can still feel the mockery of it. He types out his response as quickly as he can, pressing send before he can take time for regrets.

_Patrick is very snippy. Teasing your customers is not very professional and could drive away business. Also, keeping secrets is incorrect._

There. He’s told Patrick how he feels, hopefully he’ll never have to think of him again. Stevie sticks her head in the door of his office.

“This came for you.” She sets a flower arrangement on the corner of his desk. Black zinnias rise from the center of the arrangement, framed by two tall spikes of white flowers. The card from Patrick’s shop is tucked neatly into the edge of the pot. He’d just had mysterious flowers delivered from Patrick’s shop this morning. Was this going to turn into some sort of stalker situation where he came home to find his apartment filled with bouquets of black roses and a dead bunny on his stove? He opens the card.

_I hear you hate roses, David Rose_

He scowls at the arrangement. At least Patrick’s design skills are improving. At first he’d been flattered that someone was interested enough in him to send him flowers. But now he’s just annoyed that someone is teasing him with floral arrangements.

Stevie leans against the door frame. “Do you have a secret admirer?” He looks at the orchid with distaste. He wants to say yes, but he suspects that someone is just mocking him. “I have to say, seeing someone buying you gifts is a nice change from the way these things usually go.” 

“Don’t you have work to do?” It’s the middle of the afternoon on a Wednesday. The odds of anyone stopping into the gallery are impossibly low.

“Don’t you?” 

He huffs at her, he should be arranging the next showing at the gallery, but he’s distracted by his annoyance at Patrick. He needs to put an end to this for once and for all. “I’m going out.”

“You just got here.” Stevie yells the words at him as the door to the gallery closes behind him.

***

The zinnias were probably a mistake. 

As he’d watched David leave his shop, the shallow blond woman preceding him, he’d been consumed by the need to show David that not everyone wanted to use him, that people could give him something without expecting things in return. So he’d chosen zinnias for goodness, a nod to the words that had caused David to flee the coffee shop.

He envies David. Not the anxiety that gnaws at him, but his willingness to cast aside other people’s expectations. Patrick has lived his life in a constant state of anticipation, endlessly trying to know what everyone wanted so he could give it to them, so that their praise could ease the questioning inside him. External validation that his choices are the correct ones is a drug that churns through him...lock it up, do the right thing, don’t rock the boat.

David...well David was someone who flips the boat over and takes the train. Or more likely, a private jet. 

He can’t delude himself into thinking David has a perfect life. From what he’s seen, he’s a mess. But maybe it’s better to be a mess who understands who they are than someone who has it together but who is too scared to take a chance on anything.

A notification pops up on his phone with a new email message. He reads the survey results, his smile growing as he gets to the final question. _Patrick is very snippy._ He chuckles to himself. He’s thrown himself into David’s path, hoping to get under the skin of someone who seems to have an intense reaction to everything. Judging by the survey response, it’s working, at least a little. 

The door jumps open. David strides to the counter, pulling off his white framed sunglasses as he comes. “What if I pay you more than the person who’s sending me flowers?”

“You want to pay me to not receive flowers?” He crosses his arms and leans one hip against the counter. David stares back at him, defiantly. He wonders if David is ticklish. He wonders what it would be like to pin him down and tickle him mercilessly, how long it would take before David would break, before he laughed and begged Patrick to stop.

“That’s right.”

“David.” He leans towards him, stretching a little so the counter is less of a barrier between them. Instinctively, David leans into him, the two of them nearly touching. He lowers his voice and David moves a bit closer. “It’s not about the money.”

David huffs at him and steps back immediately, twisting his rings. “I don’t like surprises.”

“Not even good ones?” It’s almost heartbreaking, the idea that all of David’s surprises have been bad ones. 

“Is there such a thing?” David carries his tension like a weapon, so he’s not shocked to hear that he’s resistant to surprises. Maybe he shouldn’t tease David like he has been. But there’s a challenge in David’s eyes as well. He’s enjoying the game that’s sprung up between them as much as Patrick is. 

“Tell you what. It’s Wednesday. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee, just like last Wednesday. And then next Wednesday, you can come back and we’ll do it again. No surprises.”

David chews on the inside of his cheek. His fingers spin his rings around as he considers Patrick’s suggestion. “Fine. Today. But I’m not making any promises about next week.”

He can’t resist the obvious joke. “I guess that will just be a surprise, then.” 

“Okay.” David sounds annoyed, but he follows him out the door and across the street to the coffee shop.

Once again, David orders a caramel macchiato, a drink so far removed from coffee that Patrick thinks it should belong on a separate menu. He sits in the booth across from David, the black leather seat creaks beneath him as he settles into it.

“Did you know that someone called me snippy today?” He grins at David over top of his coffee cup. 

David narrows his eyes at him. “Well, obviously they’ve met you.”

The laughter rings out of him before he can control it, the scowl on David’s face deepens before the corners of his mouth twitch upwards the tiniest amount. 

The conversation flows more easily after that. David tells him about how he’s bailed his sister out of five different countries since February and in return, Patrick shares a story of the panic attack he’d had last Easter after he’d broken up with Rachel and his aunts and uncles had tutted about what a shame it was. 

He stops short of telling David about the weight of expectations he feels when he goes to work each morning but it’s a near thing. David is surprisingly easy to talk to when he’s not being defensive or deliberately ridiculous. 

“My therapist told me that panic attacks aren’t real.” David cups his hands around his mug.

“Well, your therapist kind of sucks.” Somehow he’s not surprised to discover that the best therapy money can buy stops somewhere short of best practice.

“Yeah, he kind of stopped being my therapist after I fucked him on his therapy couch, so…” David tells the story so casually that he might have been talking about a trip to the grocery store or an evening at the movies. A jolt goes through Patrick accompanied by an image of David, holding himself above him, eyes hooded as he thrusts into him. He closes his eyes to chase away the fantasy, hoping the tips of his ears aren’t pink or that David won’t think he’s embarrassed by his disclosure. It’s just his own lack of experience that’s making him think this way. David needs a friend, not another person to fuck him and leave him. 

“I’m having a party. Friday night.” David stares into his empty coffee cup as though he’s afraid to meet Patrick’s eyes. “You could come. If you wanted.” 

The last thing he wants is to spend an evening with a bunch of rich partiers. Neither of his interactions with the people in David’s life give him any comfort that he wants to spend any time with the people David surrounds himself with. Still, the draw of an evening with David is too strong to resist. He can do this one thing, take this small chance.

“What time?”

“Oh, it starts pretty early. Ten o’clock.” David smirks at him. “You already have the address. There’s no need to send flowers this time.”

***

Patrick can hear the heavy, electric beat of the music from well down the hall outside David’s penthouse apartment. He winces on behalf of David’s neighbors. The door to the apartment is open, he squeezes past a pair of women who look like models, one of them giggles and runs her fingers up his arm. “Hey, baby.” 

“Have you seen David?” He has to yell to be heard over the relentless music. 

The woman shrugs, her hand is on his shoulder now, her fingers teasing the hair above his ear. “David who?”

“David Rose.” He leans away from her, hoping to discourage her wandering touch.

“Oh.” He lets out a sigh of relief as the woman withdraws her hand. “I think he’s inside somewhere.”

“Or maybe he left.” Her friend chimes in, her laugh is low and raspy, it scratches on his ears. 

The other woman laughs with her friend. “Of course not, he’s never known when he wasn’t wanted.”

He makes his way deeper into the apartment. It’s huge and modern, the decor stark in black and white. There are people everywhere. He passes a group who are passing a bowl of pills back and forth, shaking his head when they offer it to him. This is a mistake. Even if he finds David in the crowd, the noise and the other people will make it a casual encounter at best. Maybe he should leave. 

A hand grasps his shoulder. “You came.” David is wearing a black leather jacket and black leather pants that accent every line of his long legs. He’s my friend, Patrick thinks to himself. He shouldn’t be having these kinds of thoughts about someone he considers a friend. 

“Hi.” David’s fingers flutter along his arm, each new touch sending a cascade of emotion and want through him. David smiles, half of his face twisting away from him.

“Come get a drink.” David cuts through the crowd. None of the people acknowledge his presence, other than to move out of his way. At the far end of the room, a bartender is mixing drinks, he almost sneers when Patrick asks for a beer. 

Drinks in hand, he wishes there was a quiet corner where he and David could just talk, away from the noise and the people. “There’s, uh, a lot of people here.”

“Yeah, my sister invited all of her awful friends.” David rolls his eyes. Before Patrick can respond, a man peels out of the crowd and presses himself against David.

“There you are.” The smaller man rubs himself against David like a cat against a scratching post. He presses a kiss to David’s lips, with an embarrassed glance at Patrick, David returns the man’s kiss. 

“Uh, Ken, this is Patrick. Patrick, Ken.”

“Nice to meet you.” He holds out his hand. Ken is drunker than he looks, but Patrick can sense Ken’s sudden interest in him. He drops Ken’s hand as quickly as he can, resisting the desire to wipe his hand on his jeans. 

He shouldn’t have come. Watching David churn his way through a revolving door of terrible people won’t do either of them any good. He remembers how happy David had seemed to see him when he’d arrived. David needs a friend, he reminds himself. 

“C’mon David.” They’re playing strip charades in the other room and I wanna play.” Ken nudges along David’s jawline, nuzzling and licking at him. 

“Stay as long as you like.” The smile David gives him is brittle and fake. He wants to stroke his thumb over David’s lips until it changes into something genuine. He smiles back, trying to mask his sadness.

“Thanks for inviting me.” He watches as the crowd swallows David. He should leave. He has no desire to mingle with these people. Someone bumps into him from behind, making him stumble. The living room windows look out over a large balcony. Maybe he can get his bearings. If nothing else the view and the fresh air will be a relief from the loud music and oppression of too many people.

The balcony is empty. A set of outdoor furniture sits at the far end. He tucks himself into the corner and looks out over the city. He’s not sure what he’s doing here. He’s not sure of a lot of things, he just knows that David needs a friend who can be a counterbalance to the other people he surrounds himself with. The door to the balcony opens and a gaggle of people spill onto the far end. He can see Ken in the middle of the group, giggling as they pass a joint around. Snippets of their conversation drift over to him.

“...I can’t believe David thinks you’re exclusive…”

“...if it wasn’t for the drugs and the free booze…”

“...he’s a good fuck, once or twice, at least…”

His hands tighten on his beer bottle. He wants to punch them all. But David might not appreciate him starting a brawl on his balcony. With a final laugh, one of the men flicks the end of the joint over the edge of the railing and the group files back inside.

Any remaining desire he has to stay at this party has faded. He takes one last drink of his beer, setting the bottle at his feet. Getting up, he leans over the railing, looking twenty stories down at the street below. It’s late, well after midnight, but the traffic flows beneath him, the red and yellow lights chasing each other through the darkened roadways. 

“I thought you’d left.” David leans against the railing beside him. His eyes are wild, he’s drunk or high or maybe both. 

“Nope. Still here.” He’s not sure what to make of David like this. For all his dramatics, he’s usually in control, but there’s a restlessness to him tonight that feels untameable. The silence stretches between them. “I should, uh, I should go.” Before he can step away, David is kissing him, one hand on his neck. His lips are soft and gentle as they brush against his. He relaxes into it, kissing David back. He can’t do this. David is drunk but even if he were sober, Patrick has no desire to be another of David’s meaningless conquests. But he wants, he wants so badly to kiss David until they are both gasping and speechless.

He staggers backwards, thinking only to separate himself from the emotion that is raging inside him. A mask drops over David’s face as he steps away, cold and remote. “Thanks for coming.” He turns away to look back over the railing.

“David…” 

David turns back to him, his eyes are hard. “What?”

“I...maybe I’ll see you around.” He looks back as he opens the door. David leans against the railing, his knuckles are white against the dark metal.


	3. Tulips are for Apologies

When David wakes the next morning, his head is pounding. He slits his eyes open, squinting at the dimly lit room. He’s alone, most of the partiers had left at dawn as the sun was rising, orange light reflecting off of the steel and glass buildings of the city. Ken had left with them, without sparing a backwards glance for David, evidently, he’d gotten what he came for. Which in this case, appeared to be a blow job in David’s kitchen and enough drugs to stop an elephant.

He pulls the pillow over his face. Ken doesn’t matter. Ken isn’t what’s eating at him. He’d kissed Patrick. He isn’t sure what he and Patrick are. Friends? Acquaintances? But it’s clear from the look on Patrick’s face when he’d stepped away from David that he doesn’t want to be more than that. 

He’s broken it. Whatever they had, he’s broken it the way he breaks everything good in his life. 

The doorbell rings. The soft sound is like a dagger to his throbbing headache. It’s probably one of his neighbors or the building manager, coming to complain about the noise from last night. He’s paid them off to look the other way, but maybe last night had gone too far. The bell rings again.

With a groan, he pulls himself out of bed. He’s still wearing the same clothes from yesterday. He cringes at the state of his Givenchy sweater, it will need to be dry-cleaned before he can wear it again. 

He yanks open the door. A delivery man holds out an enormous arrangement of white tulips. “David Rose?” 

He’s tempted to deny it. To turn away these anonymous flowers from Patrick’s shop. “Yeah.”

“Sign here.” The man holds out his electronic scanner and he scrawls an unrecognizable signature. “Have a great day.”

The man hands over the flowers. It’s like Patrick didn’t even try, as though he shoved the tulips into the vase and sent them on their way. He sets the flowers on the kitchen table amidst the empty liquor bottles and half empty bowls of chips. He’ll have to remember to give his cleaning company an extra tip to deal with the mess. He downs a couple of Tylenol before making a cappuccino. He adds the caramel sauce and throws himself onto the couch. Before he can stop himself, he’s sketching a new design for Patrick, using the natural arc of the tulip stems to create a flowing, arching design. He pushes it aside in disgust. It doesn’t matter. 

The usual card pokes out of the side of the arrangement. With a grimace, he opens it. 

_You deserve good things, David Rose_

He can’t go back to the flower shop. Not after last night. He’d been drunk and high when he’d kissed Patrick, but that wasn’t why he’d done it. He’d wanted to hold on to the one solid thing he had in his life, the one person who wasn’t fake and who didn’t seem to want anything from him. He wants so little that he’d rejected David as soon as he’d offered something. 

It shouldn’t matter. He’s known Patrick for all of two weeks. It shouldn’t matter if Patrick never wants to see him again. But it does. He closes his eyes and rests his head against the back of the couch, his hands wrapped around the coffee cup. His best option is to pretend nothing happened, to ignore it and hope that Patrick never brings it up. Assuming he can ever bring himself to see Patrick again.

***

Even though he doesn’t make it back from David’s party until after midnight, Patrick is at work by five o’clock. He finishes his orders for the morning before pacing around the shop, absentmindedly straightening the perfectly ordered store, trying to keep his hands busy. 

He still has an hour before the coffee shop opens, but the adrenaline coursing through him is more than enough to keep him going. He’d hurt David last night. He’d seen it on his face when he’d stepped away from the kiss, in the way David had brushed him off. It had happened so quickly, his reaction to David’s kiss. And now he doesn’t know if he can fix it, especially since what he wants more than anything is to kiss him again. 

David can be with anyone he wants, there’s no reason for him to be interested in Patrick. He thinks about the desperation that had coursed through him when David had kissed him. “I can still be his friend.” The words echo in the empty store. He goes into the cooler at the back, the bucket of white tulips catches his eyes. Tulips are for apologies. He pulls out a dozen, arranging them in a tall vase and adding David’s address to the delivery roster. 

Will the tulips be enough to bring David back to his shop to complain? He waits until Shawn returns with his completed delivery list before he lets himself hope that David might show up. The last two hours of the day drag on, but there’s no sign of David. He’s about to lock the door when Rachel comes in, her cheeks red from the crisp fall day. 

“Hey.” He hugs her hello, holding on a little longer than usual, her warmth and happiness soaking into him, relieving some of his bad mood about David.

“Are you okay?” She steps back so she can see him, her eyes searching his face. 

“Yeah.” He steps back behind the counter to close out the till. “I think I messed something up.” He checks the time, it’s just after five o’clock. “Can you lock the door?”

While Rachel goes back to the door, he counts the cash and reconciles it, putting the cash into a bag for the safe.

“What happened?” Rachel gathers up the leftover greenery from his workbench, sorting out the scraps from the usable pieces. 

“I…” He’s not sure where to start. “David kissed me.”

“David Rose?” Rachel sweeps off the workbench, tidying up the ribbon and floral wire as she goes. “He’s hot, how did you mess it up? Did you not want to kiss him?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know.” He takes the bucket of carnations he’d been working with back into the cooler. He doesn’t know how to explain David, who could have anyone he wants, but who makes such bad choices. And he doesn’t know how he fits into that picture or even if he wants to. “He was drunk.”

“And you think you’re the one who messed things up?” Her tone suggests that she thinks he’s taking on responsibilities that aren’t his, like she’s seen him do so many times before.

“I kind of ran away. After.” He should have stayed. He should have taken a chance. He should have kissed David back. He should have seen where things might have gone. He should have stayed long enough to let David know that he wasn’t rejecting him. Except he had rejected him. 

“I know this is a stupid question, but have you talked to him?” 

He grimaces at her. She knows better than anyone how much he likes to put off difficult conversations. “No.” He sighs. “I will.”

“Good.” Rachel sweeps the discarded bits of greenery into the garbage and dusts off her hands. “Now let’s go and you can buy me dinner.”

“Me?” He pretends to protest, as though he wouldn’t have bought her dinner anyway. “You’re the one who came in here.”

“Payment for your free therapy session. Come on.” With a grin, he locks the cash in the safe and follows her out the door, setting the alarm on way. He just needs to talk to David, to explain what had happened and then they can go back to being friends.. 

***

It’s been five days since the party. Other than the bouquet of tulips, David hasn’t heard anything from Patrick. He’s walked past the flower shop twice, but he was too scared to go in, afraid of seeing the look of rejection and pity creep across Patrick’s face.

The tulips are still sitting on his table, the bowls and empty bottles have been cleared away as though they never existed, the tulips accenting the modern lines of the room. He presses a fingertip to one of the petals. Somewhere out there is someone who is interested enough in him to send him flowers. It’s probably an elaborate joke, but he wants it to be real. With a sigh, he picks up his keys and his phone and leaves for the gallery.

Stevie is in her usual place behind the desk, her eyes glued to her book. “We sold the Roescheisen.”

“Really?” Anna Roescheisen creates multi-media installations that feature videos of her disemboweling teddy bears. They’re pretentious and popular, but he’d assumed they were unsellable.

Stevie just shrugs. “Something came for you.” She nods towards his office. 

The bouquet is small this time. A tightly tied bunch of white snowdrops sit in an elegant black vase. As usual, there’s no card. He narrows his eyes at the flowers, wondering if the mystery person behind them will ever reveal themselves. He opens the card.

_Don’t be a stranger, David Rose_

He rolls his eyes. It would be a hell of a lot easier to ‘not be a stranger’ if he knew who was sending the flowers. Before he can think about it further, his phone buzzes with a text. 

**Patrick:** I’m expecting you for coffee.

“How is he so fucking cocky?” He’s desperate to see Patrick, but he doesn’t want to talk about what happened at the party. If he goes for coffee, Patrick will want to talk. He’ll want to explain himself, to say why he’d rejected David. And then he’ll want to make things better. But he knows why Patrick rejected him. It’s the same reason everyone rejects him, because he’s too much or not enough. The only thing different is Patrick rejecting him before they’d fucked instead of after. 

“Excuse me?” Stevie has crept up behind him, she leans against the open doorway.

“Never mind.” He waves at hand at her, not wanting to get into it. “Wait. I need you to come for coffee with me.” Stevie will be the perfect foil. Sure, she’ll tease him mercilessly and bringing her sarcasm into contact with Patrick’s teasing might be a recipe for disaster, but her presence will definitely forestall any well-intentioned attempt by Patrick to talk about his feelings.

“Is this a new try at some employee team-building?” He rolls his eyes at her suggestion that they’ve ever engaged in any employee team-building that didn’t involve going to the bar or getting high.

“No, it’s, uh, it’s this guy I met.” He’s regretting his decision to invite Stevie. He should have just canceled on Patrick. 

“You want me to come on your date with you?” Stevie sounds like this might be the best news she’s had all year. He can see the delight in her eyes.

“It’s not a date!” He snaps the words at her instead of letting himself think about whether it really might be a date. “It’s just this annoying guy I met and I need you to come with me.”

“Is he the one sending all the flowers?” Stevie’s voice is way too even for that to be a casual question. He’ll never hear the end of it if she decides it’s worth teasing him about. 

He stumbles over the answer. “Yes. No.” 

“Which is it?” How is he still having this conversation with Stevie? The more information he gives her the worse it will be when they meet up with Patrick.

“He, um, owns the flower shop. But he won’t tell me who’s sending them.” Irritation rises inside of him, the identity of his secret admirer is an itch at the back of his mind that he can’t scratch.

“So you’re going to interrogate him over coffee?” He does want to interrogate Patrick. He wants to shake him and demand answers. Or do other things to him, depending on how much Patrick teases him. 

“No. I...he’s just nice, okay?” Patrick is nice. He’s too nice for someone like David, with a well-earned past and receipts to match. 

As always, Stevie sees right through him. “I thought he was annoying?”

“Can’t he be both?”

“With you, anything is possible.” Stevie smirks at him. “But as long as you’re paying me, I’ll have coffee with whoever you want.”

“Good.” He makes a shooing gesture at the door. “Now go back to work or read your book or whatever it is you do all day.” 

***

David is late. Or he’s not coming. Patrick cups his hands around his mug of tea, staring unseeingly into the black depths. He should have texted him sooner, but he hadn’t wanted to give David a chance to back out. 

The past five days had felt like the longest of his life. At one point, he’d thought he’d seen David go past the store, but if it had been him, he hadn’t come inside. Rachel had finally given up on his antsy, anxious mood and told him she wouldn’t talk about it again until he made an effort. So here he is, sitting alone in the cafe with a cup of tea, waiting to see if David Rose is going to stand him up.

He checks the time again. David is fifteen minutes late now. He’s not coming. Patrick’s pretty sure he’s not coming. His stomach drops and he takes a sip of his tea, wincing as it burns his tongue. He should go back to work. Before he can ask the server for a to-go cup for his tea, a silver-ringed hand deposits a cup of coffee on the table across from him. 

David stands beside the table, worrying at his rings. Behind him, a small, dark-haired woman hovers by his shoulder. 

“Hi.” Patrick fights it, but he can’t contain his smile at seeing David. 

“Hi.” David gestures at the woman. “This is Stevie. My, uh, friend?”

“Hi.” Stevie offers her hand. Given what David’s other friends have been like, Patrick’s not sure what to expect from Stevie. He eyes her carefully and she raises her eyebrows back at him, looking back at him just as appraisingly. 

“Nice to meet you.” He’s not sure how to feel about David bringing his friend for coffee. It’s not like it’s a date, he has no reason to expect to have David to himself. He’d been hoping it would just be the two of them, that they could talk about the other night, maybe clear the air.

“So David was telling me you’ve been sending him flowers.” Stevie’s eyes are dark and piercing, just like David’s.

Patrick’s body goes still. Surely David would have said something if he’d thought Patrick was behind the flower deliveries. He tries for his most casual tone, hoping to play it off. “From the shop, you mean?”

Stevie nods and takes a drink of her coffee. “Is it like a secret admirer or a stalker or what?” She sounds serious, but her tone implies something else. He eyes her carefully. She seems nice enough, but he has a feeling that he doesn’t want to get on her bad side.

“I really can’t say.” If he hadn’t told David that he was the one sending the flowers, he wasn’t going to tell this woman, with her sharp eyes and intense stare.

“Hmm.” Stevie turns to David, a wicked gleam in her eyes. “What was the other thing you didn’t want me to mention?”

“I hate you.” David snipes at her as Patrick watches their back and forth. This might be the first time he’s seen David relax even the smallest amount. 

“Oh, I remember. David thinks you’re nice and annoying.” Stevie’s eyes track back to his, holding him in place while she gauges his reaction.

“You said that about me?” He grins at David and is rewarded by the tiniest flicker of a smile.

“I definitely said you were annoying.” 

“Well, coming from someone who thinks being called a good person is an insult, I’m going to take that as a compliment.” David grimaces at him, his face twisting to the side the way it does when he pretends to be at his most annoyed.

This time it’s Stevie who smiles, a wide grin splitting her face. “I like you.”

“Most people think I’m very likable.” They both laugh as David tries to hide his snort behind his cup.

“I, on the other hand, don’t think either of you are likable at all.” David glowers at them, he’s pressing his lips together, trying not to smile. David sets his cup gently on the table. “Tell me who sent the flowers.”

“No.” 

David gives a half shrug as if to say that he had to try and Patrick raises his eyebrows back at him. Something crackles between them and for a second it’s just the two of them, looking at each other from across the booth. The connection between them snaps when David pushes back his chair and excuses himself to go to the washroom.

As soon as David leaves, Stevie’s eyes fasten themselves to his. It’s like being examined under a microscope. He tries not to squirm in his seat.

“You sent the flowers, didn’t you?” Stevie’s voice is firm and sure. 

“I, uh, don’t know what you’re talking about?” That she’s seen through him in less than half an hour is disconcerting to say the least.

“I’m not going to tell him. But you need to know that David is an idiot about this stuff. His internal filters are all messed up, he doesn’t really think that anyone who wants him could also respect him.”

“I do resp…” He trails off. Stevie isn’t finished.

“He needs someone who won’t jerk him around. So whatever you’re doing here, I hope you’re doing it with good intentions.” He feels like he’s been put on notice. The only thing he can do is nod his agreement. 

Stevie pulls out her phone as David comes back to the table. “David, that woman who wants to see the Benson painting is coming at two o’clock.”

“Okay.” David’s eyes are glued to his even as he nods at Stevie. “I’ll see you next week?” It sounds like a casual question, but David is worrying at his rings again, something Patrick recognizes as a tell when he’s nervous.

“I’ll be here.” 

David flashes a quick smile at him as he follows Stevie out of the cafe. Patrick watches them leave, David scowling as Stevie says something to him on the way out the door. Maybe he hasn’t ruined things between them. Maybe he and David can become friends. Without his permission, his thoughts return to the feel of David’s lips against his. He wrestles the thought away, finishing his tea so he can return to work. Unconsciously, he presses his lips together as though to savor the memory of the kiss. He’s glad that he and David seem to have repaired their friendship. He takes a final sip of his tea and pushes away the thought that it might have been something more if only he’d taken a chance. 

***

It’s been three days since he’d taken Stevie to have coffee with Patrick. It had taken about twelve hours for anxiety to replace the relief he’d felt that Patrick was still willing to talk to him. Patrick was probably just being nice. He’s the kind of guy who wouldn’t want to say anything in front of Stevie, and now he’ll just ghost David or find some other way to tell him he’s too busy to see him again. Every time his phone buzzes, David flinches, thinking it will be Patrick, but it never is.

He thinks of the warm look in Patrick’s eyes when he’d promised he’d meet him for coffee again. It’s not a date. He’s pretty sure it’s not a date. Not that it’s going to happen because Patrick is probably going to cancel. But even if it did happen, it still wouldn’t be a date, because Patrick doesn’t want to date him, he’s more than made that clear. 

There’d been a second, when he’d kissed Patrick on the balcony of his apartment when he’d thought Patrick had been leaning into it, wanting more. He’d been drunk but he thinks he remembers that. But then, something had stopped him. Some sort of second thoughts or common sense had stopped him from letting David deepen the kiss, had taken away the opportunity for David to lick gently at his lips and run his nose behind his ear before sinking to his knees in front of him.

He’s back at the flower shop again, doing his best to convince himself that he’s just there for business and nothing else. He needs flowers for next week’s opening of Dustin Yellen’s newest exhibit at the gallery. He clutches the sketches he’s made tightly in one hand as he opens the door. Hopefully, Patrick won’t be too upset that he’s done the designs himself, but they need to be perfect, making a modern statement that reflects his gallery and his brand.

Instead of Patrick, a petite red-headed woman sits at the counter.

“Uh...is Patrick here?” He’s not sure why he’s asking. It’s clear that Patrick isn’t here, unless he’s hiding beneath one of the tables, waiting to pop out at unsuspecting customers.

“No, he’s at a tax seminar. Can I help you with something?” 

A tax seminar? Who goes to tax seminars? Disappointment blossoms through him. “Um, I need to order some flowers? For my gallery opening?” Why is everything he says a question? He grimaces at the woman, hoping it looks like a smile.

“You’re David Rose, right?”

He winces, either she recognizes him from the tabloids or Patrick has told her about him. He’s not sure which thought is worse. “Mmm hmm. I brought some sketches for Patrick to work from.” He holds out the sheaf of papers and the woman spreads them out on the counter. 

“Wow. These are very thorough.” He’s sketched each arrangement from multiple angles. Detailed notes accompany each drawing. “I’ll make sure he gets them.”

“Thanks.” He’ll come back when Patrick is here, just to follow up. “Do you know when Patrick will be back?”

The woman eyes him carefully, David feels like she can see right through him. “Tomorrow.” There’s a long pause and then something in the woman’s face softens. “I know he’d be happy to see you if you came back then.”

“Okay.” Somehow the word is softer than he means it to be and she smiles at him gently.

“Oh, I almost forgot. You’re on the delivery list for today.” She hops off her stool and disappears into the cooler. He drums his fingers on the countertop while he waits. Moments later, she emerges with a flower arrangement. An array of black and white gladiolas rises out of a low dish, they’re framed by delicate ferns that make it seem like it’s growing from the forest floor. Rachel hands the card to him as she turns to wrap up the arrangement. “This must have come in online, that’s Patrick’s handwriting.”

_I really like you, David Rose_

Fuck. His eyes prick with tears. He scoops up the flowers and turns away from the woman. “Tell Patrick...tell Patrick I came by.” 

He makes it to the door before she can respond. “Have a nice day, David.”

***

David’s gallery is packed. Patrick had dropped off the flower arrangements, done to David’s very particular instructions, earlier that morning and David had insisted he come back that evening for the opening. So here he is, standing awkwardly beside Stevie’s desk, feeling completely out of place amidst the room full of pretentious, well-dressed people.

He watches David work the room. This is a different David from the one he’s come to know. This David is confident as he moves from person to person, laughing casually, a glass of champagne in one hand. Lost in thought, he jumps when Stevie materializes beside him and offers him a glass. “Champagne?”

“Thanks.” He takes a drink, his eyes still glued to David, marvelling at how he lights up the room.

“Spit it out.” Stevie gives him a measured glance over the rim of her glass.

“What?” Stevie sees entirely too much with those knowing eyes of hers. 

“Whatever question you’re hiding behind those heart-eyes of yours.” Her ability to see straight to the heart of the crush he’s developing for David is a case in point. 

“I don’t have...fine. How does he do that?” He nods at where David is laughing and nodding.

“Years of training at the Rose Family Academy for Rich Kids.” Stevie sips her drink. “It’s all an act. None of these people care about David and he doesn’t care about them as long as they buy some art.”

“Hmm.” A patron calls Stevie away to process a sale for one of the paintings. He wanders towards the back of the room, seeking a break from the crowd and the noise. The door to David’s office is open. He hesitates in the doorway before taking a seat at David’s desk, leaving the door ajar behind him. The desk is bare except for the flower arrangement he’d sent last week. Tucked under the edge are a couple of pieces of paper that he recognizes, the cards from all the arrangements he’s sent to David’s work.

David has kept them. Even after the flowers had died, David had kept the cards, tucked them away carefully on the edge of his otherwise pristine desk. He reaches out a finger to touch the flower arrangement, his heart pounding.

“Someone keeps sending me flowers.” David leans against the door frame, his arms crossed, an amused look on his face.

“Hi. Sorry.” Patrick stands up and moves to the door. “I needed a break from the crowd.”

David shrugs. “It’s fine.” He shouldn’t be sitting here behind David’s desk, he gets up and moves to the door. He stops just inside the doorway but David doesn’t move. His eyes meet David’s and he can feel the heat in his dark eyes. Almost in slow motion, David reaches a hand towards him.

“David?” Stevie appears beside them, a frantic look on her face. David’s hand drops to his shoulder and he squeezes it gently before withdrawing and following Stevie down the hall. Patrick bites his lower lip and stares after them, watching his missed opportunity go with them.

***

The opening had been everything David had hoped it would be. He’d sold most of the paintings and some of his patrons were thinking about buying the remaining few that were still unsold. Despite the success, David feels restless, incomplete. 

He’d almost kissed Patrick again. He can’t believe how close he’d come to giving into his fantasies, to once again ruining things between them. At least Stevie had chosen that moment to intervene, before he could completely drive Patrick away from him. Still, for a moment, he had thought Patrick had leaned towards him, that he had maybe wanted to kiss David as badly as David wanted him. That can’t be right. Patrick has made it clear how he feels, anything else is only in David’s imagination.

He needs a distraction. He can’t spend the weekend or even another minute thinking about Patrick Brewer. Andre had sent him an invitation to a party this evening at their usual club downtown. He knows that Andre is really inviting his credit card but he’s happy to pay for the booze and drugs if it means erasing thoughts of Patrick from his mind for the rest of the evening.

He pulls on his skinny jeans and his black leather jacket like he’s putting on a suit of armor. He’ll take whatever the night brings as long as it lets him forget about Patrick for a couple of hours.

The party is already spilling out onto the sidewalk when he arrives. He works his way to the bar, ordering a vodka soda and turning to survey the room. It’s filled with the same people as always. A wave of exhaustion overtakes him. He hates this. These people, who only care about his money, the music and the booze all of it. He downs the rest of his drink and orders another. He needs to relax. 

“David.” A muscular arm wraps around his neck. “Don’t look so sad.” The words are slurred into his neck, accompanied by a waft of alcohol-laden breath. 

“Andre.” He tries to wriggle out of the other man’s grasp, but the grip on his neck just tightens. 

“Brought you sumthen.” Andre holds out his hand, two brightly colored pills in pink and blue sit in the middle of his palm, each one stamped with a happy face. 

David raises an eyebrow at the pills. “What is it?”

“Just E. C’mon man.” Andre pushes his hand into David’s chest, smiling with blurry satisfaction as David picks the pills out of his palm.

Fuck it. He’s here to party and forget about Patrick. The drugs will help him do both those things. He takes the pills and swallows them down with the last of his drink. Andre pats clumsily at his face. “You’re not as bad as everyone says you are.”

Great. As if he wasn’t feeling badly enough. He gives Andre a tight smile and hopes the drugs will kick in soon. 

He leaves Andre talking to the bartender about how pretty the lights in the club are. The floaty, euphoric feeling that he gets from E starts to take over his body. This is nice. This is why he came here, to relax and forget about Patrick. Patrick. He likes Patrick. He likes his strong hands and the way his hair is almost long enough to have curls. He likes how Patrick teases him and the way he smiles. 

But Patrick won’t kiss him. Why won’t Patrick kiss him? It makes him sad that someone he likes so much won’t kiss him. Everything is soft and fuzzy now, the beat of the music is far away as though it’s coming from another room. He wishes Patrick was here. He likes Patrick. Why isn’t Patrick here?

It’s warm in here. He pulls at the sleeves of his leather jacket, wishing he had worn something else. A bead of sweat runs down his temple. Why is it so warm? He’s so thirsty. He just needs to sit for a minute. He staggers to a stool at the end of the bar. He takes him two tries, but he manages to sit, slumped against the bar. 

“Hey, man, are you okay?” The bartender looks down at him, he’s blurry around the edges, like he’s underwater.

“Are you Patrick?” It’s too warm. Patrick will fix it. Patrick can fix anything. Except flowers. He giggles to himself.

“No, man, I’m Sam.” The man looks fuzzy, but David can see now that he’s not Patrick. 

“You’re not Patrick.” He pushes his hand through the air at the man as though he can move him out of the way, maybe Patrick is behind him. 

He pulls at his jacket again, his skin feels hot and tight. His heart is racing, like it might burst out of his chest. Maybe if his heart bursts, then it won’t hurt so much. It won’t hurt so much that Patrick doesn’t want to kiss him. A hand shakes his shoulder. He forces his eyes open. He must have drifted off, just for a second. The bartender is standing in front of him. “Hey. I think you’ve had enough. Can I call you a cab?”

He shakes his head. He doesn’t want a cab. He fumbles his phone out of his pocket. “Call Patrick.” He lays his head down on the bar, the counter is cool against his burning skin. “Tell him to come get me.”


	4. Windflowers are for Fading Hopes

The buzz of his phone brings Patrick awake. He gropes around on his nightstand, checking the display. Why is David phoning him at one thirty in the morning?

“David?” He pushes himself up so he’s sitting against the headboard. It’s chilly in his bedroom, he pulls the bedspread tighter around himself.

A strange voice answers. “Is this Patrick?” In the background, he can hear the thumping bass of a DJ and the noise of a crowd.

“Yeah?” His heart sinks. Nothing good can come from a strange person calling him on David’s phone in the middle of the night.

“This is Sam. I’m the bartender at Club Red. I’ve got your friend here. He’s in pretty bad shape, I think you should come get him.” He closes his eyes and tips his head back against the wall. “Fuck.” 

“Yeah, sorry, man.” He’s out of the bed before he’s finished saying goodbye to the bartender, pulling up the address of the club on his phone and requesting an Uber. 

“I’ll be right there.” He pulls on a pair of jeans, leaving on his t-shirt and grabbing a hoodie on his way out the door. It must be bad if the bartender is calling him. No doubt some of David’s terrible friends are involved. 

The bar is packed with people, dancing and gyrating to music that is more bass than melody. Blue strobe lights cut through the darkness. Patrick squints, scanning the room, waiting for his eyes to adjust. At the far end of the bar he spots a black and white figure slumped over the end of the bar. David.

He nods to the bartender and reaches out to shake David’s shoulder. “David. Hey.” 

David lifts his head from the bar. “Go away.” The dark eyes are dull and unfocused. 

“Nope.” He looks up at the bartender. “Can I get a glass of water?”

He bends down so he’s eye to eye with David, cupping his face in his hands. David’s too far gone to focus on him, even in the uneven light, Patrick can see that his pupils are fully dilated. His skin is hot and dry. “What did you take?”

“Nothin’.” David pouts at him and looks away. He reminds Patrick of a schoolboy who’s been caught swearing, except Patrick can’t ever remember wanting to scream at a schoolboy like he wants to scream at David. Even as he goes through the motions of talking to David, as he orders water from the bartender, he’s furious that David has put himself in this position.

He grinds his teeth, reaching for every ounce of patience that he’s ever possessed. “David, tell me what you took.” 

The dark eyes meet his, insolent and defiant. “Just some E.” David’s voice gets quiet. “Knew you wouldn’t like it. But you weren’t here. Why weren’t you here?”

“I’m here now.” He takes the water from the bartender. At least it’s just E, not something worse. “Drink that. All of it.” He’d thought he’d known what the secret corners of David’s life were like but it turns out he hasn’t even scratched the surface. 

“Bossy.” David’s voice is sulky but he sips at the water, grasping the glass with both hands.

Patrick motions to the bartender. “Can I get his tab?”

The bartender laughs. “He’s got it covered, man. In fact, he’s got everyone in this bar covered.” He hands Patrick an Amex black card. Just holding it makes his fingers tingle. 

“Wait. He’s paying for all of this?” He gestures to the bar. At the bartender’s nod, something flares up, deep inside him. “Well, you can let everyone know they’re cut off, as of now.” He sticks the Amex card in his wallet and pulls out a couple of twenties, handing them to the bartender. “Thanks for what you did.” He nods at David, who tries to set his empty glass on the bar. Patrick catches it before it can plummet to the floor.

That these people are happy to drink and party on David’s dime, but that not one of them can even be bothered to help him when he needed them makes Patrick want to light them on fire. “C’mon, David, let’s go home.” He takes David’s hand. His skin is hot to the touch, but he follows Patrick obediently, if a little unsteadily, as he pushes through the crowd.

“David! Where ya going, David?” The thin, red-headed man is even further gone that David is. He strokes a hand familiarly down David’s body before resting it casually on David’s groin. David pushes into him, a vacant smile on his face.

“Patrick’s making me leave.” David’s head lolls towards him, his voice is whiny. For a split second, Patrick considers leaving him here among these people with their drugs and their booze and the free time on their hands. 

He forces down his irritation and tugs on David’s hand. “Yup, come on, time to go.” 

“Noooo.” It’s a full-blown whine this time, better suited to a six-year-old. David is in no shape to stay here but Patrick can’t make him leave without his consent. He rubs a hand through his hair, wishing the bartender had called an ambulance instead.

“He doesn’t want to go, does he?” The redhead is rubbing his hand on David’s dick, David’s eyes are on the verge of drifting closed. 

“David?” With a hand on his jaw, he forces David to look at him. “Do you want me to take you home?” David gives a small nod, beneath the glassiness of the drugs, there’s a small spark that Patrick thinks might be fear. “Okay, come on.” He shoulders the redhead out of the way and shoves his way to the exit.

Thankfully, his Uber is still waiting outside. He pushes David into the back seat, scrambling after him as he gives the driver David’s address. David slumps against his shoulder, his nose pressed against Patrick’s neck. Patrick can feel his breath, hot against his skin.

“You smell good.” David’s words are slurred but Patrick’s glad he’s at least conscious enough to talk to him. “Like a forest. Or an ocean. Or an ocean in a forest.”

“Okay, David.” Patrick tips his head back, clenching his teeth to keep from screaming or throwing up or something worse. He doesn’t like this look into David’s life. He doesn’t ever want to do this again, to have to rescue David from these people who claim to be his friends.

“And you’re pretty.” David paws at his chest. “Except your clothes. Your clothes aren’t pretty. You should come over, I’ll let you wear my clothes. I have nice clothes. You’d look pretty in my clothes.”

“Sure.” Before David can say anything further about his wardrobe, their car pulls up in front of David’s building. He pulls David’s semi-limp form out of the car. Luckily, David’s building is fancy enough that there’s a doorman instead of a keypad because he’s not sure he could convince David to recall a PIN number. 

Inside, the concierge looks up as they approach. “Good evening, Mr Rose.” The concierge’s eyes slide to Patrick and he gets the feeling that the man has seen it all before, he’s just too polite, or too well paid, to say anything.

“Frank! Hi, Frank!” David beams at the concierge as though he’s a long-lost friend. Patrick pulls him gently to one side.

“Hi, um, I’m not sure if he has his key, is there any way you could let us into his apartment?” He wouldn’t blame the man for saying no. There are almost certainly policies about giving out keys to non-residents, even when they’re accompanied by high as fuck penthouse owners. But if Frank won’t let Patrick up to David’s apartment, surely he will at least take David up by himself? Otherwise, Patrick will have to take David back to his own apartment, something he doesn’t want to do.

Frank looks resigned, and Patrick suspects this isn’t the first time someone has made this request on David’s behalf. Frank turns to David. “Mr Rose, do you want me to let this man into your apartment with you?”

David looks confused. “Which man?”

Patrick can feel his annoyance, but Frank’s face doesn’t react. “This man...what’s your name?”

“Patrick.” He does his best to look as normal as possible, all too conscious of his uncombed hair and wrinkled t-shirt.

“Mr Rose, do you want Patrick to go to your apartment with you?” 

David focuses blearily on Frank’s face before slowly swinging around to look at Patrick. “Patrick? Yes, Patrick’s my friend. Just friends, though.”

“Good enough.” Frank hands him a keycard. “You know the way?”

He nods. “Thanks.” He guides David towards the elevator, keeping a firm hold of his hand to keep him from wandering away. Inside the elevator, he puts in the key card and hits the button for David’s penthouse apartment. 

As the elevator doors close, David drapes his arms around him, it’s like being snuggled by a drowsy octopus. “Patrick. Patrick. Patrick.” David mumbles his name over and over in his ear. He’s been so focused on making sure David was okay, on getting him back to somewhere safe, that he hasn’t allowed himself to react to David’s presence. But now, with his body pressed close and his lips next to Patrick’s ear it takes all of his self control not to respond to David’s touch. The doors open, David’s apartment door is on the left. He drags David with him out of the elevator, his long arms are still wrapped around Patrick’s shoulders. 

Inside, in David’s bedroom, he pushes David gently onto the side of the bed. His eyes are still unfocused, but they aren’t as dull as they’d been when Patrick had found him at the club. He kneels down to take off David’s shoes, only to feel David’s fingers running through his hair. “Thank you for being nice to me.”

David’s voice is subdued and Patrick looks up at him from his position on the floor. He smiles softly as David’s laces come undone. “That’s what friends are for.” 

“Can I tell you a secret?” Patrick feels like he’s seen more than enough of David’s secrets for one day, possibly for a lifetime. 

He clenches his jaw as he looks into David’s glassy eyes. “You can tell me anything you want.”

David attempts to lean closer to him, but he starts to fall forward. Patrick catches his shoulders, holding him up. “I have a secret admirer. They send me flowers.” David’s face lights up at the thought, making Patrick smile. “But they won’t say who they are.” David pouts at him. “And that mean man at the flower shop won’t tell me.”

“Okay, David.” He pulls off David’s second shoe. “C’mon, it’s bedtime.” He pushes at David’s shoulder until he’s lying down, watching him through blurry eyes.

“Don’t go.” David grabs his hand, holding him in place beside the bed. 

“David…” He can’t do this. He needs to protect himself from whatever he’s feeling for David Rose, because the alternative hurts more than he can bear.

“Please…” David’s eyes are closing but the simple word tears at his heart. 

“Okay, David.” He disentangles his fingers from David’s and tugs the covers over top of him. Patrick can tell he’s almost asleep. He presses his hand to David’s cheek before gathering up the spare blanket from the end of the bed and heading to the living room to curl up on the couch.

***

The pounding headache forces David awake. He cracks his eyes open, wincing at the bright light streaming in through the windows. His muscles protest as he stretches, a dull ache emerging in his arms and legs. Fuck. He tries to remember last night. He was at Club Red and Andre had given him some ecstasy and then...he can’t remember. He thinks Patrick was there, staring into his eyes and being very rude. But that can’t be right, Patrick couldn’t have been there. He closes his eyes, despair closing over him like the deep end of a swimming pool. 

A soft noise makes him open his eyes. Patrick leans in the doorway, arms crossed, his face serious. He can’t do this. He doesn’t know why Patrick is in his apartment or what he wants, but he can’t do this. He can’t be friends with him, he doesn’t know how to be friends with anyone except Stevie and that’s only because she doesn’t know how either. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Patrick’s expression doesn’t change but he stands up straight. “There’s coffee in the kitchen.” Without another word, he turns and leaves. David stares at the empty doorway, wanting Patrick to come back, wanting to swear at him, wanting to never see him again.

He crawls out of bed. He’s still wearing yesterday’s clothes, so whatever Patrick is doing in his apartment, it isn’t because they had sex. He sighs to himself, at least he hasn’t fucked things up that badly. 

By the time he makes it out of the shower and into the kitchen, Patrick is gone. Other than the freshly brewed pot of coffee and a spare key card on the corner of the island, there’s no sign anyone has even been there. He searches the empty room, looking for some sign. The blanket from his bed is folded over the back of the couch, but otherwise there’s nothing. 

He pours a cup of coffee and curls up on the couch, wrapping the blanket around himself. As he pulls the blanket tight around his shoulders, he can smell the faintest hint of Patrick’s cologne. He winces at the movement of his sore muscles. The darkness descends before he can get settled. He hopes Patrick doesn’t think David owes him anything. He’s managed perfectly fine on his own without someone nice looking out for him. 

He tries to piece together what had happened the night before. Had Patrick been at the club? No, he must have called him. Had he wanted help or a hook-up or something else entirely? As though from a distance, he can hear Patrick ordering him to do something, his hands on either side of David’s face. Patrick’s warm brown eyes are worried as he stares into his eyes. Had he done that? Had he made Patrick worry about him? Patrick has no right to worry about him. He’d never asked him to worry. 

The fear rises inside of him. Patrick makes him feel safe. It’s tantalizing, but he knows it can’t last. He can’t rely on it, like everything else it will evaporate, leaving him even more alone than when he started. With a whimper, he puts his head down on his bent knees. The spicy scent of Patrick gets even stronger as he presses his face into the blanket. Defenses destroyed, he lets himself wish that Patrick was here with him, strong arms around him, protecting him.

***

He shouldn’t have stayed over in David’s apartment. Patrick knows it was a mistake to be there when David woke up, that David would be defensive and embarrassed at finding him in his apartment. He can’t seem to stop making mistakes when it comes to David, as though some part of him can’t help exuberantly throwing himself into David’s path in the worst way possible.

He goes home to shower and change before opening the shop. His neck is stiff from sleeping on David’s couch and there’s an ache behind his eyes that threatens to flare into a nasty headache at any moment. He tosses back a couple of Tylenol before making his way to the store.

David scared him last night. He can admit that now, in the light of day, standing in the safety of the flower shop. When Patrick had seen him, slumped over at the bar, something inside him had flared up, burning a path around his heart. He’d known that David lived his life as loudly as possible, but this is more than he’s bargained for. He wants to convince himself that it would be worth it to take a chance on David, but the memory of David’s limp weight against his shoulder and his slurred words in his ear stops him. 

He likes David. He wants to do more than like him. He could want him, every part of him. But he’s not sure if he can watch David self-destruct like he did last night. David burns brightly but maybe he burns too hot for Patrick to touch. 

The bell on the door jingles, startling him out of his thoughts. The man who approaches is tall, he has at least six inches on Patrick, with sandy blond hair that’s long enough to tie back in a short ponytail. A few strands have escaped, framing his face. He’s _built_ his mind supplies unhelpfully, as he approaches the counter. 

“How can I help you?”

“Hi, um, I’m Evan Peterson. I think my sister Tiffany called…”

“Oh, right.” Tiffany Peterson still can’t decide on her flowers, so he’s made two sample arrangements for her to consider. He steps into the cooler and brings out the arrangements, the delphiniums that David had suggested feature prominently in both. He sets them on the counter. “Sorry you had to come all the way down here, I could have just sent them with tomorrow’s delivery.”

“It’s no problem, I was in the neighborhood.” Evan smirks at him, his blue eyes lighting up as they meet Patrick’s. “And now that I got to meet you, I’m not sorry.”

“Oh. Uh. Um.” This is not his smoothest moment. “It’s, uh, nice to meet you too.”

Instead of picking up the flowers, Evan, takes one of the generic cards that Patrick keeps at the cash for clients. He scrawls his number on the card and hands it to Patrick. His fingers brush against Patrick’s. He blushes, looking down at the card. David would hate it. A pink border of roses surrounds the phrase _Forever in my heart._ Beside the generic message, Evan has written his name and number. “Text me sometime.” He winks, sending a shiver down Patrick’s spine. 

It’s still new, the idea that a guy like this would hit on him. He’s gone out with a few guys, here and there, has had a couple of quick hookups, but everything feels new and awkward and he’s not sure how to put himself out there. “Uh, yeah, see you around.”

He watches Evan leave, feeling shallow as he notices the way his ass fills out his jeans. He pushes away the thought that Evan’s jeans and plaid shirt are completely different from anything that David would wear. He taps the card on the counter, trying to decide how long he should wait before he sends Evan a text. At least an hour, he decides, as he starts to prep the day’s orders.

He’s putting together the last order when he sees the white windflowers in the back of the cooler. He’d planned to send them to David, but he can’t do that now. He thinks about David, whispering to him about his secret admirer. He shouldn’t have sent David so many flowers. He shouldn’t have let him believe that he could be more than friends. He puts the irises back in the cooler. He probably won’t be able to sell them, but it’s not fair to David to send him more flowers. 

The card with Evan’s number is still sitting beside the till. From the read Patrick had gotten from him, he seems like an average, happy guy. Maybe that’s what he needs in his life. He picks up his phone and sends a quick text.

**Patrick:** Can I buy you a coffee?

***

It’s not until he tries to order the latest collection from Rick Owens that David realizes his credit card is missing. He searches his wallet and pockets but the card is nowhere to be found. He racks his brain, trying to remember when he had it last. His dad will kill him if he has to replace another card after that debacle with the Olson twins and that dodgy rental place in Maui. 

The club. A week ago, with Patrick. He remembers giving the card to the bartender to cover everyone’s drinks and then the rest of the evening is blank, an uneven mosaic of imagery and sound. 

He’s left his card behind before and usually the club sends someone to leave it with the doorman of his building. Clearly, something else has happened to it this time. Maybe Patrick knows. He could go to the flower shop and ask him. It’s a perfectly reasonable excuse for him to stop by, it has nothing to do with wanting to see Patrick again. Even though he’s probably broken everything between them, it’s not like he’s been thinking about seeing Patrick again. He just needs to ask about his credit card, that’s all that this is.

When he arrives at the shop, he can see Patrick through the window, talking to a man with longish, sandy-brown hair. The man is leaning over the counter towards Patrick. He says something to Patrick and he laughs, the broad smile that David loves splitting his face. Before he can open the door, Patrick reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind the other man’s ear, trailing a finger down his cheek.

Oh. _Oh._ Of course Patrick is seeing someone. It’s not like he and Patrick are anything more than friends, he has no right to expect anything from him. Through the window, he sees the man lean in to give Patrick a quick kiss. It’s like a blow to David’s stomach. They’d never been more than friends, but he still feels as though he’s lost something that he never had. He stops, frozen in place at the door. He should go. He can text Patrick instead. 

“Excuse me?” There’s a woman behind him. She gestures at the door. He has no choice now, he holds the door open and follows the woman inside. 

Patrick looks up as the door opens but his eyes drop back to the man in front of him. David hears him murmur “I’ll see you tonight?” and his smile returns as the man responds, too softly for David to hear. 

The man turns to leave, awkwardly dancing sideways around David in the small space. The man smiles brightly as they navigate around each other, David grimaces in return. He wants to dislike this man who gets to kiss Patrick, but Patrick deserves someone who makes him happy. And, no matter how much he might wish it to himself beneath the cover of darkness, David knows he’s not that person. 

The woman in front of him is picking up an arrangement. David lingers beside a table filled with potted plants, he can’t resist touching a cactus with one finger, flinching away as it pokes him. He sticks the finger in his mouth, hoping to take away the sting. If only there was a similar solution to taking away the sting of seeing Patrick with someone else.

“David.” Patrick’s voice is low and warm. It sends a shiver down his spine. The woman leaves and the two of them are alone, with just the spectre of Patrick’s boyfriend standing between them.

“Hi.” His voice is uneven, he clears his throat, desperately reaching for the cold, uncaring shell to protect himself. “I, uh, wondered if you know what happened to my credit card. From the other night. I can’t remember…” He trails off, afraid to talk about the last time they’d seen each other.

“Fuck.” Patrick looks embarrassed. He digs his wallet out of his pocket. David’s eyes follow the motion, the denim is just as tight as before, his imagination races ahead, conjuring up images of what Patrick would look like as David unbuttoned the top button of his jeans. “David, I’m so sorry.” Patrick pulls his black card out of his wallet. “I took it for safekeeping and I forgot about it.” 

He shakes his head; it doesn’t matter, not really. He only uses the black card when he doesn’t want to worry about his credit limit. He should go, there’s no reason to stay, not now that Patrick is seeing someone. He can’t even pester Patrick about the flowers, there haven’t been anymore deliveries since before the night at the club. It’s as though his life will be measured in two parts, before and after a night he can’t remember.

Before he can think about what he wants to say or how much it might hurt, the words are tumbling out of him. “I...thanks. For the other night. Last week. For bringing me home.”

Patrick smiles at him softly. It’s the same smile he’s always had for David, but it feels more cautious, less free than before, as though Patrick is afraid that something might hurt him. “David. You’re my friend. I’ll always be here if you need me.”

“Yeah.” He knows it’s not true. Patrick is involved with someone else now, he won’t be there if David needs him, No one is ever there for him when he needs them. He tucks the credit card into his wallet and spins to the door, needing to hide the expression on his face. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

As he leaves, Patrick calls out behind him. “David…” But before he can hear him finish the sentence, he’s gone, spilling out onto the busy street, losing himself in the crowd, letting the blustery day brush away the tears from his cheeks.


	5. Gladiolas are for Strength

Patrick lies in the middle of his bed, sprawled across the mattress like a naked starfish, fucked out and satisfied. Evan swears to himself as he walks around the bed, a bundle of clothes in one arm. “Babe? Have you seen my other sock?” Evan is a nice guy. He’s funny and considerate and sexy. Ever since Patrick had confessed his lack of experience in a halting voice, Evan has made it his mission to take him apart in as many ways as possible. They see each other two or three times a week, for dinner or a movie, after which they go home and have sex. It’s playful and fun and Patrick feels more complete than he ever has. But Evan never spends the night and Patrick doesn’t ask him to. And if Patrick sometimes wakes up in the morning wishing for a pair of prickly black eyes to share his coffee with, he doesn’t let himself think about it.

He doesn’t love ‘babe’ if he’s honest with himself. It always feels like Evan is talking to someone else. He tries to remember where they were when he’d taken off the last of Evan’s clothes. “Uh...maybe by the chair?”

“Got it.” He feels the mattress settle as Evan pulls on his clothes. His eyes are heavy, keeping them open is too difficult, so he lets them drift closed. A soft hand strokes his cheek and he cracks them open. Evan smiles at him, bending to kiss him gently. “I’ll text you later.” 

“Mmm hmm.”

“Put some clothes on before you get cold.” Evan’s voice is fond, and a t-shirt and pajama bottoms land on the mattress beside him. With a final kiss, Evan leaves, the bedroom door shutting softly behind him.

He lies still for a minute, tempted to fall asleep as he is. Instead, he forces himself to sit up, pulling on the clothes Evan had chosen for him. He’s trying to decide if he has the energy to brush his teeth when there’s an uneven banging on his door. Evan must have forgotten something. He untangles himself from the sheet that has wrapped itself around one calf. The knocking repeats itself, quieter this time. He opens the door to find David, disheveled, arms crossed. Something that he’s been holding tightly inside himself unfurls at the sight of him. “David? What are you doing here?”

It’s been three months since he’s seen David. He’d texted a couple of times in the days after David had come to his store in search of his credit card but there’d been no response. He’d debated sending flowers but in the end, he decided against it. And now, here he is, as though Patrick had conjured him from thin air. He should have tried harder. He’d wanted to be David’s friend and then he’d just let him drift away. That wasn’t what friends did. A pang of guilt ripples through him. Perhaps he’s just as bad as everyone else in David’s life. 

“I came home to find Dylan fucking some other guy in my bed.” David’s voice cracks and he looks away. “You said...you said you’d help if I needed it. Can I stay here tonight?”

“David…” People like Dylan will never see you, they only see the money and the things you buy them. The words claw at the back of his throat, and he pushes them down unspoken. Instead, he steps aside and holds the door open. “Sure, c’mon in.”

David stands in the entryway, his rings flash as he worries at his hands, as though he’s not sure what to do now that he’s here in Patrick’s apartment. He half turns, like he might make a break for the door. Patrick interrupts him before he can move. “Do you want some tea?”

David nods, just once, but he trails behind Patrick, following him into the kitchen. Patrick puts the kettle on and pulls out the tea and some mugs. David is bouncing around the kitchen like he can’t sit still, looking at the herbs on Patrick’s windowsill, straightening the placemats on the table, rearranging the salt and pepper shakers. Patrick watches him for a second before pulling out a package of cookies to go with the tea. Foregoing a plate, he hands the cookies to David, smiling as he takes four out of the package before hesitating and adding a fifth. 

“Five cookie day, huh?” He pours the tea into two mugs, setting one in front of David.

He expects David to roll his eyes at him, but he just looks at him before slowly sliding one of the cookies back towards the package. Patrick reaches out to stay his hand. “David, it’s fine. You can eat the whole box if you want.”

David sits quietly on the other side of the table. He seems smaller, his movements more constrained than normal. He finishes his first cookie and reaches for a second. Patrick sips his tea, watching him over the rim of his mug. The silence stretches between them, sticky and heavy. He can feel it between his shoulder blades, the pressure to fill the space with words, but something in David’s face stops him, makes him wait until David speaks first.

David finishes his second cookie. “I never thought…” He starts and stops again. “I never thought I’d have what other people have, you know?” His hand is shaking as he picks up the next cookie, Patrick’s not sure if it’s anger or something else. “I’m not sure I even know what other people have.” David laughs, it’s like nails on a chalkboard. “But I always thought I’d find something for myself, like that’s not too much to ask?”

Patrick nudges the package of cookies closer and takes another sip of his tea. Usually he finds the tea soothing, but tonight it tastes like ashes in his mouth. He should have followed up with David, he should have forced him to respond to his texts, he should never have let him fade out of his life just because he’d found a nice guy to fuck him a couple of times a week. “David…”

David continues as though he hadn’t spoken. There’s only one cookie left from his original five. “You would think it wouldn’t hurt so much after the hundredth time. But it turns out it’s not like drinking or doing drugs. You can’t build up a tolerance.” David finishes the last cookie and eyes the bag. His eyes flick to Patrick’s, there’s a defiant spark as he pulls the package closer. 

David takes another cookie, but he doesn’t eat it, he holds it between his fingers, carefully, like it might break. He looks at Patrick again, and this time he doesn’t look away. “You’re the only person who ever cared.” Before Patrick can respond, David laughs again, the harsh sound sends prickles down his spine. “But I can’t even trust that. Why would you be different from anyone else?”

Patrick wants to tell David that he’d never hurt him, but he has a feeling that he already has. “I’m always here if you need me.”

It’s like David doesn’t hear him. “I didn’t tell you the truth. Before.” David stares at the cookie in his hand as though he’s not sure where it came from. “Dylan…” His voice cracks, the sound is sharp enough that it almost echoes off of the hard surfaces of the kitchen. “...when I came in and found them, he...he hit me.” Patrick has to strain to hear the words. 

“David…” It hurts so much. He comes around to David’s side of the table, sinking into the chair beside him. 

“It’s my apartment. He made me leave my own fucking apartment.” David is crying now, he scrubs at his eyes with the back of his hand. 

“Shh.” He can’t sit beside David and not touch him. He wraps his arms around him, holding him tightly as David weeps into his shoulder. 

He doesn’t know how long they sit there. Patrick’s back is aching from the awkward position, but he’d sit like this forever if it makes David feel better. He strokes his hand up and down David’s back, rubbing gently until he feels David relax. “I’m not Bill Gates, I don’t have a guest room. But you can have my bed, I’ll sleep out here.”

At that, David sits up and looks around, his eyes are red and puffy. “There’s nowhere to sleep out here.”

He’s not wrong. His tiny loveseat is too small. He’s fallen asleep on it a time or two, only to wake up stiff and sore. “It’s fine.”

“I can’t put you out of your bed.” David is getting agitated again, his hands twist against each other. “I’ll...I’ll just go.”

“You’re not going anywhere.” He thinks about the king-sized bed he’d splurged on last year. “We’re both adults, we can share my bed.”

David looks unsure at that idea, but he nods and follows Patrick into his bedroom. 

It looks like a room where two people had just had sex. Patrick sees David take in the rumpled sheets, the discarded clothes, the bottle of lube on the nightstand. He holds his breath as David turns to him. “Could I take a shower?’

He lets out the breath he was holding. “Yeah, of course.” He pulls a towel out of his closet, topping it with an old t-shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms. “There’s a toothbrush in the medicine cabinet.” David looks amused at the pedestrian clothing, but he doesn’t say anything before disappearing into Patrick’s bathroom.

Patrick strips the bed as quickly as he can, pulling clean sheets from the closet, tossing the old sheets and his scattered clothing into the hamper. He feels like he’s trying to hide the evidence that he’s been cheating before his boyfriend gets home. He shakes off the feeling, scanning the room one last time. He’s tucking the bottle of lube into the top drawer of his nightstand when David comes back.

“What’s this?” David’s voice is outraged, the same tone he uses when he’s being as dramatic as possible. For a second, Patrick thinks he’s talking about the clean sheets, but then he sees the bottle in his hand. 

“Um, hand lotion?” He can see David’s outrage grow, like air filling a balloon. The sleep pants are too short on him and the t-shirt is too tight. With his damp, unstyled hair, he looks adorable. He sets his carefully folded clothing on the chair by the window.

“And this is all you use on your skin?” David holds the bottle between his thumb and forefinger, his mouth twisted in disgust. 

“Should I be using something else?” Despite everything that’s happened, the teasing comes back like they had never spent time apart.

“That you even have to ask that.” David sets the bottle on top of his dresser. He’s trying to distract himself, Patrick realizes. Trying to channel his pain and unease into the bottle of lotion. 

“Sorry, David. I meant to restock the spa, but I ran out of time today.” David rolls his eyes at him as he stands uncertainly in front of Patrick’s dresser. He’s twisting his hands again. Patrick nods to the far side of the bed. “You can have that side.” David nods and takes a couple of steps forward. “Um, I’ll just...I need to brush my teeth.”

When he comes back from the bathroom, David is lying on his back on the far side of the bed. He’s as close to the edge as he can be without falling off. Patrick crawls into his side and switches off the light.

“Thanks.” David’s voice is small in the darkness.

“Any time. I mean, maybe not all the time...” He’s glad to hear David’s quiet laugh from the other side of the bed. 

“Goodnight, Patrick.”

***

It’s dark. So dark that David can’t see anything. But he knows they’re there. Just out of reach, surrounding him, pushing him forward towards something he can’t see, something that’s going to hurt. The terror engulfs him, tearing the words from his lips. “No. No! NO!”

He sits up, forcing his eyes open. It’s still too dark, making him whimper. 

“David?” 

He flinches away from the strange voice that comes out of the darkness. 

“Hey, it’s okay.” There’s a rustling sound and a light flips on. Patrick is sitting in the bed beside him, his short hair is mussed, his eyes are worried. Right. He remembers now. He’d come here last night and poured his heart out to Patrick before letting Patrick talk him into this sleepover. It’s too much. He would leave if he could but the clock beside the bed says that it’s two in the morning and he has nowhere to go. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” He whispers the words. This is when other people would throw him out, when he’s too much of a disruption. Patrick has always insisted he’s different, but how can he be sure? 

“David, it’s fine.” Patrick lies down and tucks himself under the covers. “Let’s go back to sleep.” He reaches for the light switch and then stops, seeing the fear in David’s eyes. “We can leave it on.”

Patrick curls up on his side, facing him, waiting until David mirrors his position before holding out his hand. David grasps it gratefully and Patrick’s fingers rub across his knuckles. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“I…” No one has ever asked him that before. The space between ‘what are you doing’ and ‘get out’ has always been too small for anything like talking. The dream is fading anyway. “It was dark, I don’t remember.” He shakes his head against the pillow, not wanting to bring back the scary images. Patrick’s fingers tighten around his. 

“Hmm.” Patrick hums at him, a soft, comforting sound. “When I was little, I had nightmares all the time. I was convinced that there were things in the dark that were going to get me. And the more nightmares I had, the worse it got. My mom got me a nightlight, but it didn’t matter.”

“What did you do?” It’s oddly comforting, hearing Patrick talk about being scared, even as a little boy.

“Eventually, they went away on their own.” Patrick pauses and he looks down at their clasped hands. “And then two years ago, they came back.” David’s inhale isn’t sharp enough to be a gasp, but he can tell Patrick notices all the same. Patrick is quiet and David’s not sure if he will continue. He wants him to, more badly than he’s wanted anything for a long time.

Finally, Patrick continues. “You know what I admire about you?” David shakes his head. Why are they talking about him? He wants to hear more about Patrick’s nightmares instead of wherever this is going. “You know who you are. You’ve probably always known, haven’t you?”

Patrick’s eyes meet his, they’re warm and brown, but a little sad at the same time. David shrugs against the pillow. There have been a lot of people who don’t like who he is, but Patrick’s right, he’s always known himself.

“I couldn’t sleep for two weeks straight. I’d fall asleep and I’d have a nightmare and not be able to go back to sleep. And then it got so I was scared to sleep.” It’s David’s turn to hum encouragingly. He squeezes Patrick’s hand, wanting him to continue. “My girlfriend made me see a therapist.”

“And?”

“And, it turns out that when you spend your entire life trying to fit into other people’s expectations, you forget to figure out what you want for yourself.” Patrick smirks at him. “Turns out I’m really, really gay.”

His sudden confession startles a laugh out of David. “How did your girlfriend feel about that?”

“Well.” Patrick’s voice is filled with amusement. “You can imagine. We’re friends now, but it wasn’t the result she was hoping for when she sent me to therapy.”

Patrick’s matter-of-fact statement is absurd, something breaks free inside him, making him giggle uncontrollably. Patrick joins him and the two of them laugh together until they’re crying, the entire time, Patrick holds tightly to his hand like he’s afraid David might fly away.

His eyes are heavy, Patrick smiles at him softly from the other pillow. “You can turn the light out now.” Patrick reaches for the light switch without letting go of his hand. Darkness covers them and David falls asleep, clinging to Patrick’s hand like a lifeline.

***

Something tickles his cheek. Patrick wakes up just enough to try to push it away, his hand brushes against the soft head of hair that’s pillowed on his chest. David. He freezes for a moment, waiting to see if David is awake. Once he’s sure that David is still asleep, he can’t stop himself from running a hand through David’s hair. David burrows closer in his sleep, tucking his head beneath Patrick’s chin like it was made to be there. David snuffles, his breath is warm against Patrick’s neck. With a final pat to David’s hair, he lets his eyes drift close as he falls back to sleep.

When he wakes again, David’s body is tense against his. He eases his arm from around David’s shoulders, hoping to prevent David from spiralling. There’s a moment when he thinks David might be okay but then he pushes himself away to the far side of the bed out of Patrick’s reach. 

“I have to go.” David is out of the bed, searching for his clothes. 

“David…” David stops just for a second. The man who had laughed with him in the middle of the night is gone, his face closed and distant. Patrick swings his legs off the side of the bed. “David.”

“Thanks for giving me a place to stay.” David gathers up his clothes, shutting the bathroom door behind him. With a sigh, Patrick runs a hand through his hair before pulling on his own clothes. 

The coffee is ready by the time David comes out of the bathroom. Patrick hands him a mug before he can try to leave, but his eyes flick to the door the entire time he stands in Patrick’s kitchen. He finishes the coffee and sets down the mug on the counter. Patrick follows him, pulling on his coat and grabbing his keys and his phone.

“What are you doing?” David spins around, his arms crossed on his chest, his eyes dark.

“You’re not going home by yourself.” Patrick knows David will fight him on this, but he’s not going to back down. He can’t let David walk into whatever is waiting for him at his apartment on his own.

“I don’t need your help.” David’s voice is higher than normal. His rings flash in the light as he twists them frantically.

“Don’t you?” For a second, he thinks he’s pushed David too far. David’s eyes are dark and hollow and he glares at Patrick. Behind the mask, Patrick can see how fragile the threads are that are holding David together. He nods to the door. “Let’s go.”

David is silent during the trip to his apartment and Patrick is afraid that if he speaks, he’ll startle David into a panicked flight, so they spend the ride in uneasy silence. Frank is at the desk inside David’s building. He nods to Patrick as they cross the lobby, Patrick gives him a half-smile, glad to be remembered in case they need help with whatever awaits them inside David’s penthouse.

He can feel David’s agitation even without touching him. They stand side by side, watching the numbers on the elevator climb higher. 

“David.” David glances sideways at him, but he doesn’t respond. “Whatever you need to do, I’ll back your play.”

“I don’t know what that means.” Despite the circumstances, David’s voice is amused.

“Yes, you do.” He’ll support anything David wants to do. If David wants to dangle his ex off the balcony, he’ll offer to hold him. If David wants to burn down the building, he’ll light the match.

The tiniest quirk of a smile flashes across David’s face. “Thanks.” The word is almost lost to the sound of the elevator doors opening.

The door to David’s apartment stands ajar. David pushes it open, there’s no sign of anyone in the living room. The room looks like a tornado tore through it, empty bottles and dishes are scattered across every surface. A kitchen chair is on its side in the middle of the room. David’s lip curls but he doesn’t say anything as he leads Patrick through the mess to the bedroom. He thrusts the door open hard enough that it slams into the wall, slapping the light on in the same movement.

“What the fuck.” Two men are tangled in the black and white covers of David’s bed. The shorter one struggles to sit up as David stands at the foot of the bed. His white-blond hair falls into his eyes as he sneers at David. “Look who’s back.”

“Get out of my apartment, Dylan.” David’s voice is low and Patrick has never heard him sound so intense. He can see the tension quivering in his shoulders. He moves to stand beside David, crossing his arms as he stares at the pair in the bed. 

Patrick can see the moment when Dylan’s derision changes to apprehension as he looks back and forth between David and himself. Beside him, his companion fumbles around on the floor for his clothes, pulling his shirt on inside out before bolting for the door. Patrick steps aside to let him go, all of David’s attention is focused on Dylan. The man sneers at David again, but it’s a performance now. “You never could take a joke.”

“Get. Out.”

“Whatever.” Dylan pulls on his pants and grabs a shirt from the floor, brushing past him and David. His attempt to storm away is belayed by the quickness of his stride as he almost runs from the room. Patrick follows him to the front door of the penthouse, putting out a hand to stop the other man from leaving. 

“If I find out you’re anywhere near David again, I’ll make you regret it.” He says the words as though he’s ordering a sandwich. Fear flashes through Dylan’s eyes and he pulls his arm free, slamming the door behind him. 

Patrick turns to find David standing in the middle of the living room, his eyes guarded as he looks at Patrick. “Thanks.”

He nods soberly and looks behind David at the disaster Dylan and his friend have made of David’s apartment. “I can help you clean up.”

David waves a hand, shaking his head. “Leave it. I pay my cleaning service a lot of money to deal with things like this.”

“Ah.” The idea that this might be a regular occurrence is sad but somehow not surprising. “I need to open the store.” He hates leaving David here, in the midst of the wreckage of his life. “Come with me.”

“What?” The confusion is clear on David’s face, his eyebrows rise in two different, yet complementary directions.

“Come to the store with me. You can tell me all the things I’m doing wrong with my designs.” An image of David, sitting across his workbench, directing him as he puts together flower arrangements flashes through his mind. Maybe this is the chance he should have taken with David all along, the chance to provide sanctuary, even for a little while.

David smiles at that, but he shakes his head. “Aren’t you sick of me?”

“Do you want to stay here by yourself?” He gestures at the empty wine bottles on the table.

David shakes his head again, he chews on the inside of his cheek. “I need to change my clothes. And my skin is still suffering from the effects of your hand lotion.” He narrows his eyes at Patrick. “Fine. I will meet you at your store.” It’s Patrick’s turn to narrow his eyes. “Patrick. I promise.”

***

By the time David takes a shower and finishes his nine-step skin care routine, with an extra mask to recover from the effects of the night before, it’s well past noon and he’s having second thoughts. He’d let Patrick in past his defenses last night. Patrick had broken him down with tea and cookies and he’s not sure he can let himself be seen like that again. But, he’d promised. And he wants to spend time with Patrick, even if it means being exposed beneath the gaze of those warm brown eyes.

When David walks into the flower shop, Patrick lights up like someone plugged him into a light socket. It’s infuriating that someone should be so unabashedly delighted to see him. As though Patrick doesn’t know him at all. Or perhaps he knows him too well. 

“Morning, sunshine.” Patrick is at his workbench arranging a selection of purple Gerber daisies into a vase. 

“No. Nope. You do not have my permission to use any kind of pet name. Not even ironically.” He glares at the smirk that flashes across Patrick’s face. “Besides, it’s two p.m.” 

He stalks behind the counter, pulling up a tall stool across from Patrick. Patrick’s hands are quick and sure as he cuts the flower stems to the right lengths and adds in some calla lilies and greenery. The end result is more modern than David expected, the lilies and spiky leaves adding a graceful height to the arrangement. Patrick takes the arrangement to the cooler and returns with a bucket full of snapdragons. He sets the bucket on the floor and pulls out a dozen stems of white flowers. 

Patrick’s hands pause and he tilts his head, considering the flowers in front of him. “Did you know that snapdragons are for deceit and presumption?” He selects a couple of the stems and wraps florist tape around them to create a bouquet. “People always want them for their wedding bouquets.”

“Maybe that explains the divorce rate.” Patrick was right. It’s relaxing, sitting here watching Patrick work. For the first time since yesterday, he feels some of the tension inside him unwind.

Patrick laughs. “Maybe.” He sets the first bouquet into a vase to keep the stems wet and starts on the next one.

Watching Patrick work with the flowers reminds David of the deliveries from his secret admirer that had stopped so suddenly. “What, um, what do gladiolas mean?” He’d assumed that the flowers had been from an admirer, but maybe that wasn’t the case, maybe someone was trying to send a different message. The tips of Patrick’s ears are pink as he continues wrapping the bouquets. 

“Uh, gladiolas are for strength mostly.” Patrick avoids his eyes.

So nothing bad, then. He considers Patrick carefully. There’s something he’s not saying. When Patrick goes into the cooler, David pulls out his phone and googles the meaning of gladiolas. Strength, the internet confirms. And infatuation. He narrows his eyes thoughtfully. The deliveries had stopped so abruptly right after the incident at the club. He wants to ask Patrick about them again, but he’d been adamant that he wouldn’t tell David anything about who was sending the flowers. 

“Do you want to have dinner tonight?” Patrick’s question interrupts his thoughts. 

“You don’t have to do that.” Surely Patrick has seen enough of him. Between crying on his shoulder and dealing with his nightmares and now having David watch him while he’s working, he can’t believe Patrick isn’t thoroughly tired of him. 

“I’d like to.” Patrick sets the flowers down on his workbench as he waits for his answer. 

“Okay.” The word comes out more quietly than he intends, it hangs in the air, soft and intimate. Patrick smiles at him and they’re frozen, smiling at each other when the door to the shop opens.

“Hey, babe.” It’s the man he’d seen with Patrick all those months ago. The man who had kissed Patrick as he watched through the window. He thinks about the sheets and the clothes and the lube he’d seen last night in Patrick’s bedroom and resentment for this man rises inside him.

“Evan.” There’s a smile in Patrick’s voice, but there’s something else as well, something David can’t decipher. Evan comes around the counter as though he owns the store. He kisses Patrick, one hand at the back of his head and David has to look away, his hands reaching to arrange a few broken flower stems in a precisely symmetrical line. 

“I got tickets for the Blue Jays game tonight, pick you up at six?” 

David arranges the flower stems into a triangle. One side is too short, it throws off the entire design. He breaks off a small piece from each of the other two pieces to make them even. He wants to quietly disappear, but he’s trapped here in the corner while Evan and Patrick discuss their plans. Maybe he’ll see if Stevie wants to eat with him now that Patrick is going to cancel their dinner.

“Mmm, I can’t. I promised David I’d go to dinner.” Patrick’s voice is firm and unapologetic. 

Wait. What?

“I see.” There’s a decidedly chilly tone to Evan’s voice. David dares a glance up, only to see Evan staring at him, his eyes unfriendly. “Always fun to see my boyfriend going on a date with someone else.” His eyes rake over David. “Especially someone like this.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Patrick’s voice is cold and quiet. David sits frozen, paralyzed by the duality of Evan’s derision and Patrick’s support. 

“Everyone knows about David Rose.” He can tell that Evan senses he’s made a mistake but a look at Patrick’s face tells him it’s too late. That Patrick thinks what Evan has said about him is unforgivable. A small spark of warmth emerges deep inside him. He looks back down at the workbench, adding a few more scraps of greenery to his design, trying to hide the smile that threatens to steal across his face.

“Evan.” The warning in Patrick’s voice is so loud it might as well be a flashing neon sign. David can’t understand what’s happening. Is Patrick picking a fight with his boyfriend just so he can go to dinner with David? Most people wouldn’t pick a fight with a mailman for him, let alone with someone they cared about. Patrick has a stubborn look on his face, the same one he’d had when he’d refused to tell David who had sent him flowers. But there’s no humor to Patrick’s face now. “You don’t get to insult my friends just because I’m not available at the last minute.” 

“I think I have the right to expect you’re not dating other guys when I’m not around.” Evan has shifted from obnoxious to angry, his eyes are hard as they flick between David and Patrick. 

“David is just a friend.” The words are firm and forceful, almost too much so, the way you would say them on stage in a play. David frowns, looking at Patrick, but his attention is on Evan.

“Is that what you’re calling it?” Evan laughs, sharp and divisive. 

Patrick’s face flushes, his ears are bright red. “You need to decide what you’re trying to do here.”

“ _I_ need to decide?” Evan laughs again. “I can’t believe you’re choosing _him_ over me.”

David sees Patrick’s jaw clench. He wants to intervene, to tell Patrick that he’s not worth it, that he should watch the sportsball instead of honoring his commitment to him. But he’s frozen in place, held fast by the notion that Patrick is defending him, may even be sacrificing his entire relationship for him. Patrick folds his arms across his chest and steps away from Evan. “I’m not choosing anyone, we had prior plans.”

“I should have known things would turn out this way.” David winces at the cruel glint that has appeared in Evan’s eyes. He’s seen it too many times in the eyes of people who wanted to hurt him. “You’ve always held back, right from the beginning I knew you weren’t in this. Is it because you weren’t willing to open up to me or is it just that you aren’t able to?”

Patrick’s face goes white, just the tips of his ears stay red. “I think you should leave.”

“Yeah.” Evan storms out of the shop, slamming the door hard enough to make it rattle in its frame. 

Patrick braces his arms on either side of his body, he hangs his head, his breath coming in short pants. David pushes back his chair, watching Patrick carefully from the other side of the table. 

Maybe he should go. “I…”

“Don’t you dare say you need to leave.” When Patrick lifts his head, his eyes are blazing. 

“Okay.” The whisper envelopes them both, David can feel it lingering on his skin.

“He wasn’t wrong.” Patrick’s voice is quiet but there’s an intensity to it that makes David shiver.

“Okay?” It’s the only word he knows how to say.

“Evan. He wasn’t wrong.” 

“About what?” He closes his eyes, just for a second, and when he opens them Patrick’s eyes are so intense that he can’t breathe. “About what?” His voice rises and cracks on the last word, as though Patrick has forced it out of him.

“I am choosing you over him.” The words fall from Patrick’s lips like pebbles into a pond, the ripples spreading out towards him, each one hitting him like a blow. It’s too much. He steps backwards until the edge of the front counter is digging into the small of his back. “You can’t run from me now.” It’s a plea and a gift and a demand all wrapped together. 

“Are you sure?” He’s always been on the other side of this equation, always been the person who was cast aside in favor of someone else. 

Patrick releases his grip on the counter, shoving his chair aside as he comes around to David’s side of the table. “I’m not sure of anything.” David’s heart sinks at the words, but Patrick isn’t finished. “But I can’t walk away from you. You make me…” Patrick trails off, searching for the right word. Crazy, David thinks, or regretful. “...reckless. Wild.”

“Is that good?” He’s not sure. When he looks in Patrick’s eyes, it reminds him of flying, like he’s soaring unfettered above the earth. 

The laugh bursts out of Patrick, free and happy. “Yeah, yeah, it’s really good.” 

And then, before he can think or respond or protest, Patrick is kissing him, one hand tilting David’s head towards him, the other grasping his hip, pulling them together. 

Evan has made a big mistake, giving this up. Patrick kisses him like he wants to take him apart. Each stroke of his tongue, each nip of his teeth, each press of his lips is executed like it’s part of a plan to bring David to his knees. He’s moaning. It’s a low, guttural sound that comes from deep inside him, leaking out without permission. Patrick seems to take it as a challenge and the hand that is gently stroking his jaw moves backwards to pull the hair at the back of his head. His moan turns to a whine and somehow Patrick kisses him even harder than before.

His hands fall to Patrick’s shoulders, bracing himself there to keep from collapsing, he’s grateful for the counter at his back. “Patrick…”

“Hmm?” Patrick hums at him as he does _something_ with his tongue that makes David’s stomach flip upside down. 

Patrick’s lips move down his neck. If his knees were weak before, they’re useless now. He braces himself against the counter and forces out the words. “Are you sure you want to do this here?” 

Patrick presses one last kiss to the base of his throat, his head comes up to look David in the eye, a wolfish smile spreads across his face. “I promised you dinner, didn’t I?”

David’s stomach growls, making them both laugh. “Dinner. And maybe we should talk about this?”

The look in Patrick’s eyes suggests he has other ideas for things he’d like to do that evening, but he nods in agreement. “Dinner. And a conversation. And we’ll see what happens from there.”


	6. Orchids are for Love

Patrick takes David to the Japanese restaurant down the street. It’s nearby and the food is good and he knows David will hate the cheap plastic menus and the chipped melamine tables. 

Inside, David raises an eyebrow at him but he lets Patrick order for them from the illuminated menu that hangs over the cash register. An older woman takes his order in perfect English before yelling back to the kitchen in Japanese and he can hear the sizzle of the food and the banging of the pans. 

They’re alone in the restaurant. Patrick tangles their fingers together, pulling David’s left hand free of the cheap wooden chopsticks that came with their meal. David’s fingers flex in his, slowly relaxing as Patrick squeezes his hand. From the beginning, being with David has been like being on a rollercoaster. He feels like he’s poised at the pinnacle of the track, just before they plunge into the swoops and turns that await them for the rest of the evening.

David breaks into his thoughts. “You should know that I have high standards for Japanese food.” 

“I’m pretty sure you have high standards for most things.” David grins at that, a quick, twisting thing that crawls across his face and disappears in the blink of an eye. 

They order tea and Patrick leads David to the only booth in the restaurant. The black vinyl is chipped and cracked, but the booth is tucked almost out of sight in the back corner. 

They slide into the booth; he refuses to let go of David’s hand, playing with his fingers across the table. There’s a moment of silence as David watches him run his fingers along David’s hand, tracing the lines and contours of his fingers. 

“Are you…”

“I want…”

They both speak at the same time. Patrick turns David’s hand over and strokes his thumb over David’s palm. David inhales at his touch.

He tries again. “I want you to know I’m not sitting here because of what happened with Evan.” He drags his thumb across David’s palm again, feeling him shiver. “I’m not on the rebound or playing a game or anything like that.”

“Are you sure?” It’s the same question David had asked earlier. This time he whispers the words to the tabletop, his eyes riveted to the sweep of Patrick’s thumb across his hand. “Are you sure this is what you want?” David’s free hand gestures towards his body as though that could possibly be a reason Patrick might not want him.

“You have no idea how sure I am.” David’s eyes meet his. 

“You should know that I’m not good at relationships. Generally. And also specifically.” David’s free hand traces a crack in the plastic top of the table.

“Is anyone? David, I just broke up with my boyfriend and now I’m sitting here with you.” He can tell it’s the wrong thing to say. David stiffens and he pulls his hand away. “That’s not...I wish we’d done this three months ago.” He tightens his grip on David’s fingers, waiting until they relax in his. “My whole life, I’ve done what everyone expected and then you came along and turned me upside down.”

“That is a really beautiful way of saying the same thing that everyone says, that I’m too much for you.” David doesn’t pull his hand away this time, but his eyes are guarded when they meet Patrick’s.

“That’s not what I’m saying.” He sifts through the words, trying to find the right ones. “Right from the start you defied all my expectations and I didn’t know how to deal with that. I don’t know what this is.” He gestures between them, David’s eyes follow his hand. “But I’ve spent three months pretending not to think about you, so I think I want to take a chance and find out.” 

“Okay.” David blinks rapidly and looks away. Patrick strokes the palm of David’s hand with his thumb and David’s long fingers wrap around his hand, holding it like a promise.

They’re staring at each other, hands clasped when their server clears her throat beside them. Patrick’s not sure how long she’d been standing there, but she sets two enormous plates of food in front of them with a polite smile.

Reluctantly, he lets go of David’s hand and picks up his chopsticks. David has already taken a bite of his first takoyaki. He moans at the taste, making a noise that Patrick hopes he can get him to repeat later in his bed. 

“This tastes just like the street food I had in Japan.” David’s eyes are closed, his head tipped back as he savors the taste. His eyes snap open and he stares at Patrick accusingly. “How did I not know about this place?”

Patrick laughs, amused that this was his fault. “I don’t know, David. Maybe you should get out more.”

David huffs at him and takes another bite. He moans again, not quite as loudly, but enough to make Patrick’s cock twitch. He takes a deep breath and focuses on the food, pushing aside his thoughts about what might happen later. 

They eat in happy silence. David makes small moans and whimpers as he samples the different dishes. Patrick watches his chopsticks every time he chooses a new dish, trying to contain his reaction to David. When not even David can eat anything more, Patrick catches David’s hand again. 

“I feel like we should take things slow, but all I want to do is take you home with me tonight.” He wants David in his bed. He wants to take him apart until neither of them can remember their own names. And then he wants to do it again.

“You mean like a sleepover?” David sounds amused, his dark eyes flash as he considers Patrick’s suggestion. 

“No, not exactly.” His voice is low and gravelly, he can see the words roll up David’s spine.

“If...if that’s what you want, I would be open to that.” David seems flustered and Patrick feels a rush of pride that he’s having this effect on him.

“That is very much what I want.” He teases his fingers along the inside of David’s wrist, just inside the cuff of his sweater as David vibrates beneath his touch.

*** 

Patrick holds his hand the entire ride back to his apartment. His thumb sweeps relentlessly over David’s knuckles, kicking up little sparks of desire that shoot up his arm and go straight to his dick. Inside the building, Patrick pushes him towards the elevator. They wait impatiently, watching the numbers count down the floors. When the doors open, Patrick pulls him inside, both of them giggling as Patrick presses the button. 

Patrick lets go of his hand and he regrets the loss of it until Patrick’s hands cup his face and Patrick is kissing him, so softly that he has to close his eyes to feel the brush of his lips. “I wanted to do that the day we met.”

Something rises inside him, unexpected, like he’s found something that he’d forgotten was missing. “Why didn’t you?” His hands clutch Patrick’s shoulders. He can hear the soft chime of the elevator as it passes each floor. 

“Kissing your customers is generally bad for business.” 

“Hmm.” The elevator doors open and they spill into the hallway. Patrick’s hand finds his again and he tugs David down the hall and around the corner to his front door, fumbling his keys out of his pocket along the way. His hands grasp Patrick’s hips and he pulls Patrick against him, the sudden pressure against his hardening cock makes him whine. Patrick laughs, a high, breathy sound and his head tips back against David’s shoulder, his free hand reaching back to cup David’s neck. Unable to resist the invitation, he presses lips and teeth to the base of Patrick’s throat and Patrick writhes against him. 

“My neighbors are...going to complain if I don’t...open this door soon.” Patrick struggles to say the words, his hand pawing at the lock. David wants to wreck him. Right here in front of his door, he wants to take him apart, to flay him open, to leave him naked and exposed and destroyed so everyone can see what Patrick does to him. He flexes his hands on Patrick’s hips and forces himself to step backwards just enough so that Patrick can open the door. 

Patrick’s apartment is exactly how they’d left it that morning that was also a hundred years ago. David just has time to notice the two empty coffee cups that are still sitting on the kitchen counter before Patrick is kissing him again, pressing him backwards against the countertop, the edge of it digging into his ass.

The kiss has more heat than before; he opens in response to Patrick’s mouth, letting him take and take before pushing back, chasing against his lips, sliding his tongue against Patrick’s. Patrick works his thigh in between David’s legs, he rocks forward, a moan ripping out of him as Patrick thrusts against him. 

The kiss is just hitting that rhythm, that place where every part of him is lost in the back and forth and give and take of lips and teeth and tongues when Patrick pulls back. He whines, trying to chase his lips. Patrick’s face is flushed, his hair is sticking up from where David had gripped it between his fingers. 

“Come back.” He tries to kiss Patrick again, but he evades him, gasping as David’s mouth finds the soft spot beneath his ear. 

“I just wanted to point out that I have a perfectly good bedroom.” Patrick gestures behind him, pointing in the wrong direction. “Right over there.”

“God, you’re so practical.” He bites down on the spot he’s been teasing with his tongue. “There’s nothing wrong with a nice blow job on the kitchen counter.”

Patrick’s eyes are dark and his voice is low as he looks at David. “It’s cute that you think we’re going to do anything as quick tonight as a countertop blow job.” 

A shiver runs through him and his voice is just as low as Patrick’s. “Go on, then.” Patrick guides them to the bedroom. He drapes his arms around Patrick’s waist from behind, pulling Patrick against him, tucking his fingers into the front pockets of Patrick’s overly tight jeans. He nuzzles his nose behind Patrick’s ear, running his tongue along the shell of his ear, smirking to himself as Patrick trips over his own feet just inside the bedroom door. 

“You’re a menace.” Patrick spins them around, giving David a small push onto the bed. The sudden manhandling sends a jolt of want through him. He leans back on his elbows, spreading his legs to ease the pressure on his swollen cock. Patrick’s eyes follow the motion and he licks his lips.

Not wanting to squander Patrick’s attention, he runs a hand slowly up the inside of one of his thighs. Patrick’s eyes are glued to his hand, his lips part and David can hear his harsh breathing. He cups his dick, letting his hips twitch upwards into his hand. Patrick makes a strangled noise and then he’s on him, his mouth seeking David’s, his hips grinding into him, an onslaught that makes them both moan. 

It’s unacceptable that they both have their clothes on. He tugs at the hem of Patrick’s sweater, scraping his nails along the newly exposed bare skin. “Off, off, off, off.” It’s a demand and a chant and a plea. Patrick sits up, kneeling across David’s lap. He pulls off his sweater and tosses it to one side. David follows suit, carefully folding his sweater and setting it aside. 

“Are you ready now?” Patrick’s voice is amused. So sassy. Right from the beginning, Patrick has been so sassy. He rakes his nails up Patrick’s sides, happy to see him flinch. Patrick grinds against him, his hips jerk upward, desperate for friction. They move together, denim clad hips moving into each other in a delicious rhythm. Slowly, Patrick pushes him backwards until David is lying beneath him. Patrick leans forward, his arms bracketing David’s head, he runs his nose along David’s hairline until his mouth is beside David’s ear. “What do you want?” 

The words rock him. If he’d been standing, he would have stumbled. Has anyone ever asked before? Maybe a long time ago, before word got around that he was easy, that he liked anything. Which wasn’t true, it had never been true, but no one had ever asked before, had ever laid him bare in a way that felt good instead of the way that made him want to pull the covers up to hide his exposed body. 

“David?” Patrick sounds concerned, he leans back so he can see David’s face. It’s too soon to let Patrick see this part of him, the part of him that makes people call him needy before they take what they want and throw him out. But...he’d cried on Patrick’s shoulder last night and instead of running away, here they are, back in Patrick’s bed with Patrick asking him what he wants. 

“I want…” He wants anything Patrick will give him, but he’s not sure how far Patrick wants to go on their first night together. Patrick is looking at him patiently as though he would stay frozen for a hundred years, waiting for David to say what he needs. “I want you to suck my cock...please?” It feels whiny and needy to say the words, but Patrick just grins at him and kisses him, wet and hot and messy. 

“Yeah.” Patrick’s voice is rough, like sandpaper on his skin. He rolls off of David. “Take off those pants and scoot up for me?” His lips find the soft sensitive skin at the base of David’s ribs, his light stubble scratches making him quiver.

Patrick helps pull his pants down and over his feet, before folding them up and setting them in a neat pile on top of his sweater. It’s unfair that Patrick would take such care after teasing him earlier. Before he can react, Patrick tugs off his own clothes, he stands naked in front of David, one hand loosely gripping his erect cock, a confident grin on his face.

He scoots up and pulls a pillow beneath his head. “Get over here.” With a low laugh, Patrick stretches beside him, one hand clasps his hip, pulling their naked bodies together. As Patrick kisses him, he wraps a hand loosely around both their cocks. Patrick’s kiss turns into a moan at the sensation of the two of them moving together. They rock into each other, both of them are leaking now and he needs more. He tightens his grip and Patrick moans, grabbing his ass and pulling them together.

“Lube?” He mouths at Patrick’s ear. Patrick turns sideways in his arms to reach towards the bedside table and David can’t stop his hand from following the curve of Patrick’s ass, his fingers tracing the swell of each cheek before dipping teasingly between them. He presses a kiss to Patrick’s shoulder as Patrick passes him the lube and a condom.

“You don’t have to stop.” Patrick looks over his shoulder at him and he lets his fingers retrace the same path, Patrick lets out a small sigh as his fingers brush against his hole, his hips thrusting against the bed. 

“What do you want?” 

“Mmm, are you making a checklist?” He nips at Patrick’s shoulder and his teasing laugh turns to a gasp. He brushes a fingertip over Patrick’s opening again, making his hips jerk forward for a second time. “You can start by putting your fingers inside me.”

He drizzles lube over his fingers and rubs them more deliberately between Patrick’s ass cheeks. Patrick writhes beneath him as he presses his index finger against his hole. He pulls away to add more lube and Patrick chases him, swearing under his breath. He fucks his finger in and out of Patrick until he’s whining and begging. 

“God, look at you.” He nuzzles at Patrick’s ear as he adds a second finger. Patrick moans again and thrusts into the sheets. David’s cock twitches at the sight. 

“More, David, I want more, want you, God…” Patrick’s voice rises to whine, his hips are jerking aimlessly now. “Want you inside me. Please.” Patrick’s voice goes even higher on the last word, it runs over David’s skin like an electric shock and Patrick pushes back onto his fingers. 

“Okay, hang on.” He kisses the back of Patrick’s neck and he shudders beneath him. “Roll over for me.”

Patrick whimpers at the loss of his fingers. David kisses him, deep and messy before he tears open the foil wrapper and slides the condom over his dick, lining himself up with Patrick. “Okay?”

“Now, David.” Patrick pushes hard against his fingers, his voice demanding. 

“God, you’re so bossy.” He pushes into Patrick until he’s fully seated, giving them both a minute to adjust. Slowly, he builds a rhythm, Patrick is tight around him, it’s glorious and he lets out a moan that comes from somewhere deep inside, the familiar sensation building as they move together. Patrick wraps a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him into a filthy kiss as his other hand works his cock. 

“I’m close, I’m so close.” He breaks free of the kiss long enough to gasp the words into Patrick’s neck. Patrick thrusts down on his cock, the unexpectedly movement topples him over the edge and he comes with a shout. With a final pull to his own cock, Patrick’s hips jerk again before he comes between them as David collapses onto his shoulder. 

“You’re perfect.” Patrick murmurs the words into his ear, his voice a low, fucked out drawl.

“I’m really not.” He shakes his head against Patrick’s neck, brushing away the impossible compliment. 

“Right now, in this moment, you’re perfect.” He protests again when Patrick interjects. “Just take the compliment, David.” 

“Fine.” He doesn’t want to be but he’s smiling. He looks Patrick in the eyes, there’s laughter there, even as his eyes drift closed. 

Slowly, he pulls out, making both of them whine. He pads into Patrick’s small bathroom, returning with a washcloth and a glass of water. He sets the water on the nightstand and runs the washcloth over Patrick’s stomach, tossing it into the hamper on the far side of the room. Patrick’s eyes are nearly closed, but he wraps himself around David when he climbs back into bed. David cuddles closer and Patrick tangles their bodies together.

“I’m sorry, David.” Patrick’s voice is sleepy and far away. His arm is tight around David’s chest, his breath warm against the back of David’s neck.

“For what?” He’s sure he’s had better sex. Maybe. Some time. He can’t recall when exactly. It doesn’t matter. Even after the worst sex, no one had ever apologized. 

“You didn’t get the blow job you wanted.” He can tell Patrick is nearly asleep. He strokes his hand down Patrick’s arm, tangling their fingers together.

The laughter bubbles up from somewhere deep inside him. “Mmm. You can make it up to me in the morning.”

***

This time, David doesn’t move when Patrick wakes up. Sun streams in the window. It’s Sunday, he doesn’t have to open the store until one o’clock. He tightens his arm around David and he burrows even more closely into his side, tangling their feet together. “David.” 

“Mmfph.” The sound is muffled by several layers of blankets. He presses a kiss to the dark hair. Two black eyes peer up him from where David is almost completely encased in the comforter. “What?”

“I need to tell you something.” Instantly, he feels David’s body tense. “Shh.” He rubs a hand up and down David’s back. “It’s nothing bad, I don’t think.”

“That’s not as reassuring as you might think.” David tries to pull away, so he wraps his other arm around him, holding him in place. 

“Do you remember when we first met and…” David interrupts before he can finish the sentence.

“...and you sent me all those flowers and pretended they were from a secret admirer?” David wiggles a little and Patrick’s hand drops to the dip of his waist. David props himself up on an elbow so he can see him better. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Wait, you knew that was me?” 

David shakes his head. “I figured it out after. But you were dating Evan and it didn’t seem like it mattered anymore.” David drops his head to the pillow beside him and Patrick turns so they’re face to face, using the hand that rests on David’s hip to sketch patterns onto his skin. “Why did you stop?”

He stops moving. “I got scared. That night at the club. I couldn’t...I couldn’t do that again. I couldn’t let myself care about you and have to do that again.” The memory is right there, at the surface, the anger and fear that if he lets himself get entangled with David that he’ll spend more nights pulling David out bad situations until he resents him or himself. 

David looks away, his eyes drop and his fingers toy with the hem of Patrick’s shirt sleeve. “It scared me too.” His voice is quiet. “I haven’t been back since.”

He has no right to feel relieved, but he does. He’s too far in it now to protect himself, he was probably too far in back then, but he’d done what he does best, push the truth away rather than deal with it.

He brushes away a lock of hair that’s fallen over David’s forehead, letting his fingers trail down David’s cheek before cupping the back of his neck. He leans into the kiss, nudging David’s cheek playfully with his nose. Free from last night’s desperation, he takes his time with the kiss, teasing David’s lips until he smiles into the kiss and they both giggle. 

“I’m going to send you so many flowers, David Rose.”

David’s face goes through a series of contortions as he tries to hold back his smile. “Okay, but before you do that, we need to talk about modernizing your design repertoire.”

“Well, maybe you can help me with that.”

“Mmm. Maybe I can.”

***

The flowers are waiting for David when he gets to the store. Sometimes it’s once a week, sometimes it’s twice a day, but Patrick has held to his promise to drown David in flowers. This time a white orchid rises from honeysuckle and lemon leaves. Love, I love you, everlasting love. Love, love, love. 

Six months ago, he wouldn’t have known the meaning of any of the flowers in Patrick’s shop, but he’s here almost every day now. Patrick has turned over control of the shop’s designs to him and he’s slowly been building a catalog of modern arrangements for the store, each of them with a hidden meaning written in flowers. 

He looks over to where Patrick is watching him from behind his workbench. “I love you too.” The words are new. Not uncomfortable, exactly, but precious, so he whispers them for fear they might evaporate. He pulls out the card from where Patrick has tucked it into the side of the arrangement. 

_You make everything better, David Rose_

He’s kept them all. Every single note that Patrick has written and tucked into a flower arrangement. Some of them are funny, some of them are sweet, but he’s kept them all. He blinks away the prickly feeling in the back of his eyes and meets Patrick’s gaze. “You can’t just say things like that.” 

“Technically, I wrote them.” Patrick joins him at the front counter. He slides his hands along David’s waist, his own hands rise to rest on Patrick’s shoulders. He tips his forehead to meet Patrick’s as his boyfriend continues. “And you know what? There’s nothing you can do to stop me from saying things like that every day.” He rolls his eyes as Patrick pulls him closer, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before whispering in his ear. “You don’t just make everything better, David Rose. You make me better.”

He wants to tell him to stop, to deny that it could be true, but Patrick is kissing him now and he doesn’t want to interrupt. Still, he feels the words he wants to say, thrumming through him, nestling into the back of his mind. _You make me better, too._


End file.
